The Black Castle
by Ali Ranger51
Summary: After burning Morgarath's bridge, Evanlyn and Will try to escape Erak's crew, but it goes badly wrong. Will ends up badly hurt, and Evanlyn leaves by herself, believing Will to be dead. Can Will escape Morgarath's Black Castle before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1: Escape

**Author's Note and Introduction**

Hi, Everyone!

Welcome to my story, The Black Castle.

This story is written in two parts, the Normal version (this one) and the Dark version (same name but with "– Dark Version" on the end). In the beginning, there will only be some minor differences in events and character reactions between the two versions. They begin to branch off into two distinctively different stories after Will arrives at Morgarath's castle.

The two versions of this story were originally posted as a single story under this name, but it became too difficult to follow the storyline, especially as I changed (wrote) my plan and decided to give the two versions different endings.

The Normal version is written more in the style of the actual _Ranger's Apprentice_ books and I will try to keep the characters more in line with how they would react in the series. Basically, I will try and keep them in character. If, at any point, you think that something is too out of character or just completely unrealistic, please let me know, with either a review or a PM and I will try to either fix it or explain my reasoning for writing something as I did.

The Dark version is written, well, rather darkly… It involves torture and some dark thoughts and probably a lot of out of character-ness. For obvious reasons it is rated M. In this version, I will take off my restraints and let my evil side run wild. Poor Will.

It is not necessary to read both the Normal and Dark versions of this story, as one may appeal to you more than the other. However, if you do take the time to read both (which I would really appreciate) please keep in mind that different events will happen in slightly different time frames or orders, and that the characters will act differently. I hope to make each story different enough to stop the other from being predictable.

Now for some introduction and background information before you start reading.

_The Black Castle_ takes place half way through _The Burning Bridge_, book 2. Will and Evanlyn have been captured by Erak and the Skandians after burning Morgarath's bridge and Horace still manages to escape with Tug, Kicker, and the pack pony.

This is where the story begins.

I love hearing from readers, so reviews are greatly appreciated. I will try to reply to each and every one because I get a warm fuzzy feeling every time I get an email with a review and they mean so much to me!

I will try to not comment until the end of the chapters as I, personally, find it frustrating to read huge Author's Notes (as mine tend to be) at the start of a story as those precious seconds I spend reading them is time I could be reading the story. I'm sorry if this sounds arrogant or offends anyone but I just can't help it; I get so caught up in stories!

Also, my chapters tend to end with cliff hangers. Sorry, but I personally believe that a good chapter leaves you wanting more and wondering what could happen next, so I apologize in advance for any distress I cause you. XD

This story will be updated every two weeks on a Monday. In the off week, the dark version will be updated. If I get a lot of progress made in the writing and editing, I will probably update more often. It depends what happens and how busy I am.

Thank you to my absolutely wonderful Beta, TwilightsCalling! You rock!

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Ranger's Apprentice_.

Thank you.

Ali Ranger51

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Slowly, cautiously, Will opened his eyes. If anyone had been looking at him, it was doubtful that they would have seen any movement at all. After Will had reassured himself that none of their Skandian abductors were looking his way, he inched his right hand towards an exhausted Evanlyn, and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

They were lying on the ground in a small clearing surrounded by trees. In any other company or time the surroundings would have been serene and peaceful. However, the snores from the sleeping sea pirates were rather hard to ignore, and Will found it impossible to appreciate the beauty of the bush with the constant grating sound reminding him of the presence of his companions, or rather, his captors.

Dried blood cracked on the wound on his head as Will slowly rose to his feet. He felt a brief sense of vertigo at the movement and he silently cursed the Skandian that had thrown the rock, before cursing himself for not avoiding the rock in the first place. Will tried not to picture his mentor's face when Halt realized that his apprentice had been brought down by a rock. Will steadily ignored the part of him that defiantly insisted that it had been a _big_ rock as he moved silently into the trees. It was time to put his plan into action. They were going to escape.

The plan was not ideal. If he had more time, Will would have liked to learn more about the Skandians, their style of fighting, the watch schedule and which men were light sleepers. Halt had always taught him to learn as much as he could about a situation before acting. As it was, all Will could do was knock out the sentry, steal his weapon and if things went south, run like hell. Considering that all the Skandians—including the sentry—were the size of large boulders, his plan wasn't all that reassuring. Nevertheless, Will was smart enough to realize that sometimes all you could do was cross you fingers and hope for the best.

* * *

Evanlyn, like Will, had only been pretending to sleep. Well, mostly anyway. Evanlyn wasn't sure, but she thought that she might have drifted off slightly for an hour or so earlier.

Shaking her head to clear the last bit of sleep, Evanlyn looked around for Will and saw him already moving towards the guard that was keeping watch. She couldn't help but admire the way that Will was able to glide soundlessly from one scarce patch of cover to another. Perhaps once they were back in Araluen she would ask him to teach her. Evanlyn blushed slightly at the impossibility of the thought.

Moving slowly to keep the Skandians from realizing that she was awake, Evanlyn gathered up the raggedy old blankets that she and Will had been given before wrapping them around the food she had pilfered from dinner and a small wineskin filled with water. The supplies wouldn't last more than a day between the two of them, but Will had said that they were better than nothing. After spending several weeks hiding out in the forest around the Araluen-Celtica border, Evanlyn didn't doubt that.

Gathering up the small bundle, Evanlyn set off quietly into the trees on a path parallel to the one Will was traveling nearly 30 feet to her left.

* * *

Will observed the watchman from the cover of an overgrown oak and wished that he had his saxe knife. The Skandian Jarl, Erak, had taken it, along with his small throwing knife, his bow, and his cloak; he didn't want to risk trying to retrieve his weapons. As beneficial as being armed would be, the risk of being caught before they could even leave the camp was too high. He would just have to take the sentry's large dagger and make do with that, as he doubted that he could even lift one of the massive battleaxes that the Skandians carried, let alone use one.

As Will edged closer to the sentry, he remembered what Gilan had told him about fighting an axe man. It wasn't very reassuring. He distinctly recalled Gilan telling him that he would be better off jumping off a cliff than facing a mad axe man with only the two small knives that Rangers carried. In fact, if Will remembered correctly, _"Jump off the cliff. It'll be less messy that way"_ were the precise words that Gilan had used. Gilan would probably strangle him if he knew Will was planning to take out a massive Skandian without even a small knife to back him up.

_Here goes nothing_, Will thought desperately as he brought the thick branch he had picked up earlier down on top of the Skandian's head.

* * *

Evanlyn looked around, startled, as a huge _crack_ sounded around the small campground. She froze and peered through the trees at Will in shock. The young apprentice was now holding half of a rather dead looking branch and looking at it in shock as an angry Skandian with a freshly dented helmet shouted the alarm. All around her Skandians were waking and reaching for their battleaxes. The watchman looked especially pissed. Skandians were rather fond of their helmets after all.

She barely had enough time to hear Will screaming at her to run as his common sense overcame his shock, before the massive Skandian Jarl stood up and began shouting at his men. Evanlyn didn't hesitate. She ran faster than she ever had before, desperation driving her to greater and greater speeds.

* * *

Will was stunned. He couldn't believe it. The branch had just split in two when it had collided with the Skandian's head, doing no more damage than a slight dent and a very loud crack. Unfortunately, it was the crack that he had to worry about.

The campground was in uproar as his common sense, honed from his lessons with Halt, kicked in and he shouted at Evanlyn to run before dashing off deeper into the forest himself. He blundered through the trees, making as much noise as possible in an attempt to draw attention away from Evanlyn. With any luck he would be able to loose his pursuers in the dense woodland later, but for now he needed to give Evanlyn time to get away.

* * *

"After them! Don't let them escape!" Jarl Erak was angry. He grabbed his battleaxe as he leapt after the two prisoners. Nordel was going to be on the oars for a year after this. He had obviously fallen asleep on watch again.

Erak may have just woken up, but he reasoned that the prisoners would be tired and disorientated too. They had probably had even less sleep than himself or any of his men so he doubted that they would get very far.

Despite his large size and the massive horned helmet he wore, Erak ran swiftly through the trees, shouting angrily to his men as he followed a well used game trail. Years of experience during various raids up and down the Araluen coast had taught him to be able to run when he had to.

As he ran deeper into the trees, he heard a solid grunt and as he rounded the next bend in the rugged path, he caught sight of the boy, Will. A pale glint of light reflected in the moonlight showed Erak that Will had somehow managed to take a dagger from one of his men. The apprentice ranger was holding the vicious knife in front of him and for a moment, the battle-hardened Jarl found himself admiring the young boy's courage. Will's eyes flickered at something off to Erak's right and his expression rapidly turned briefly into one of shock and horror, before fixing on Erak again, grim determination shining in his eyes.

* * *

Will had been trying to lead the Skandians away from the direction he thought that Evanlyn was heading in, causing as much chaos as he could. He had gotten lucky with a Skandian that had his back towards him, staring in the opposite direction, and he had been able to knock the man out with a rather large rock. Halt had taught him to be able to adapt at a moments notice, so it wasn't too hard for Will to figure out that a piece of wood wasn't nearly hard enough to knock out a bull-headed sea pirate. _It seems that a rock works nicely though_, Will had thought with a satisfied smile as he unsheathed the Skandian's large dagger.

When he had first held the dagger, he had felt the smallest glimmer of hope, as if his farfetched plan might actually work. Now though, as he stared into the enraged gaze of Jarl Erak, Will felt his hope leave him. He had spotted Evanlyn watching him not 20 feet away, and he knew that if he didn't act in the next few seconds, she would be caught too. Clutching the dagger tightly, Will realized what he had to do; he needed to draw the Skandian's attention to stop him from finding Evanlyn. Taking a deep breath, Will threw himself at the large man in front of him, the dagger in his right hand aimed at the barrel shaped chest.

* * *

Erak watched in shock as the young apprentice lunged at him, dagger held outstretched. He hesitated for a moment before realizing that if he didn't so something in the next second, he was going to end up with the dagger in his chest. As soon as he realized this, his hands moved as if of their own accord, a practiced movement used in a lifetime of raids. The battleaxe swung towards Will, aimed for the joint where Will's right arm met his shoulder, before it seemed to jerk and miss slightly, colliding with the young ranger's collarbone instead. Erak had pulled his blow at the last moment.

The shock and force of the blow knocked Will to the ground, and he lay there, not moving, feeling blood dribbling from his shoulder and oozing onto the ground beside him, pooling around him. As the deep blackness of unconsciousness crept into vision, Will thought he could hear Halt in the distance, berating him for his completely stupid heroics.

* * *

Evanlyn watched the scene in front of her in shock. She had been running through the trees, trying to find Will, and time seemed to halt as she finally caught sight of her friend. He was standing in front of the Skandian Jarl, holding nothing but a knife as he looked desperately into the trees for an escape route. She watched his eyes widen with shock and horror as he caught sight of her, before focusing once more on the Skandian in front of him. She watched in terror as he launched himself forward, straight at the armed Jarl. Before she could even scream, it was all over. Will fell to the ground, lying awkwardly on his back, unmoving. As she watched, blood seeped from the wound onto the forest floor, staining the browning leaves a vivid red. Tears filled her eyes as she turned and ran once more into the forest.

The young girl didn't stop running until long after the sounds of pursuit had faded into the night and she had collided with a low hanging branch that, through her tears, she hadn't been able to see.

Evanlyn couldn't believe it. Will was dead, and as she desperately picked herself up and continued on, she realized that he hadn't even known her true name. He had given his life to save her and he thought of her as no more than Evanlyn, lady's maid.

Wiping her eyes once more, Evanlyn promised herself that all of Araluen would know that Will no-name had died a hero. That he was brave, courageous, smart, and one of the best archers that she had ever seen; that he had died to save the life of Crown Princess Cassandra.

* * *

**A/N**

**So, what did you think? Please leave me a review and let me know what you liked, either in the old version or this one, and what you would like to see. I have the plot mostly sorted out, but it couldn't hurt to have more suggestions!**

**Thank you again to my beta, TwilightsCalling!**

**I'm off to sleep now, it's 1:30 am here, so I'm pretty tired. I wanted to get this out to you guys now, as I knew I couldn't keep putting it off.**

**Ali Ranger51.**


	2. Chapter 2: Consequences

**Chapter Two**

"Why on earth did you have to hit him so damn hard?" Svengal bellowed, his voice echoing through the clearing.

"You try hitting 'softly' with a great whacking battle axe! Especially when your target's not even half as big as you! What the bloody hell was he thinking, lunging at me like that?" Erak roared, even louder than Svengal. There was a slight frown on his face as he puzzled over why the young ranger would start a fight when he was so clearly outmatched.

The two men were quiet for a moment as they stared angrily at each other, before something occurred to Erak. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are to question me, Svengal? I'm Jarl here!" Erak gave a smug grin as he thought he won the argument, showing off yellowing teeth in the process.

Svengal knew it would be unwise to continue to argue, but he couldn't help himself. "The boy is probably going to die now and even if he doesn't, he's bloody useless! Ragnak will never buy him as a slave now!"

Svengal opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but before he got the chance, a giant fist collided with his head and sent him flying backwards into the dirt. Erak stood ominously above his second in command and considered adding in a kick for good measure. Skandians weren't the most even-tempered of people and they largely disliked verbal arguments.

Fortunately for Svengal, Will choose that moment to let out a low groan of pain. As Erak felt his rage edging away, he reached out a hand to help Svengal back to his feet. After all, Erak had a great respect for his crew, and he thought it was time to explain to his second in command a way they could still get a reasonable profit from this fiasco.

"I take it you noticed the bronze amulet the boy was wearing, Svengal? And how neatly he dropped those Wargals with that bow of his?" Erak questioned.

"What does that matter? So the lad can shoot and has an odd taste in jewellery? It doesn't mean anything." Despite Svengal's carefree tone, he was curiously looking at his shipmaster. Erak wouldn't have brought up the matter if he didn't think that it was important.

"The boy is a ranger." Erak said. "Remember a few years back when we were raiding in Seacliff? It was a ranger that took out Gorad and Thorfin as we were getting away. Admittedly, the boy is only an apprentice, but he's a ranger none the less. Morgarath will pay well for him regardless of what condition he is in. We'll get more for selling him to Morgarath than we would have got selling both him and the girl as slaves."

Svengal looked questioningly towards Erak, sure that there was more to his reasoning. Money was the only topic Skandians were happy to discuss calmly and at great length. "If Morgarath values rangers so highly, why weren't we going to sell him to the great bat originally, instead of as a last resort? The boy could die by the time we get him to Morgarath, and surely an angry, bruised, and tied up ranger is worth more than a half dead one?"

Erak glanced at the young ranger lying on a stretcher off to the side of the clearing. "I may be a battle hardened sea wolf, but I'm not cruel, Svengal. If I sell the boy to Morgarath, he is unlikely to last a week. Even life as a yard slave would be better than that. With the other booty gained in a battle like this, I would have been happy to get the smaller profit from selling him as a slave, but with the way things are going now, I don't think we're going to get enough that I can justify selling the boy for a lower price."

Svengal thought for a moment as he stared at the young ranger they were discussing, before turning to look Erak in the eye as he slowly nodded. He wasn't going to begrudge his Jarl for putting his men before his morals, no matter how badly he felt for the boy.

* * *

Evanlyn, or Cassandra as she was rightly called, was hungry and exhausted. She felt like she had been running for days even though in reality it had only been around four hours. She had passed a party of Wargals about an hour earlier, and though the beasts terrified her, she knew that she would have to pass many more before she reached her father's camp.

She had dropped the small parcel of food, blankets, and water when she had seen Will struck down, and was now kicking herself for her momentary lapse of common sense. It would be another couple of days until she reached the Plains of Uthal, and she was already starving and shivering with cold. Her cloak had been taken along with Wills, and her clothes were torn and dirty from her desperate run through the trees.

Moving around the countryside was infuriating. The closer she got to the Plains, the less cover there was. Cassandra was forced to sprint dangerously from one scarce patch of cover to the next in order to avoid being spotted by wandering Wargals.

This most definitely was not something that she had been trained to do. When Cassandra was only young, she had played with all the sons and daughters of the nobility that had come to the castle. One of her favourite games was called Knights and Thieves, where one group of children—the 'thieves'—would try to sneak past the rest who were being 'knights'.

With a scowl, Cassandra remembered how one day shortly after her ninth birthday her father had cornered her after one such game. "You are going to be queen one day, Cassandra, and you need to start acting like it. These games must stop. You should be learning to be a proper lady, not how to run around the royal gardens bashing your friends with sticks!"

_Well_, mused Cassandra, _I am certainly going to talk to my father about that when I get back! A fat lot of use knowing how to waltz is now isn't it!_

"Dammit!" Cassandra swore as she was startled from her thoughts and tripped, falling heavily to the ground. For a moment, she considered just lying there and waiting for the Skandians to find her. _I can't do this! Will could have done it!_ She felt her eyes fill with tears as she thought of her friend.

Struggling, the Crown Princess pulled herself to her feet. She was going to make it. She had to. Will had died to save her so she wasn't just going to give up.

Gritting her teeth, once more filled with purpose, Cassandra started forth once more.

* * *

It felt like his shoulder was on fire. Will slowly tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered running through the trees to lead the Skandians away from Evanlyn, running into the lone Skandian and taking his knife. He remembered his blinding panic as he saw Evanlyn so close to being caught; he remembered his mad leap towards Erak, knife raised in front of him. Then Pain; Blinding, white hot, Pain. And then… nothing.

Questions shot one after the other through his mind. Had Evanlyn escaped? Where was he? How long had he been unconscious? How bad was the injury to his shoulder? Would he still be able to shoot? And, most worrying of all, what was going to happen to him now?

It appeared that there was a bandage on his shoulder as he could feel it pressing on the wound. There was also a strong smell of warmweed salve that had most likely been applied to the wound as a painkiller and to stave off infection. Had Halt found him before Erak had managed to finish him off? Will felt a sharp sense of joy and relief before it occurred to him that if Halt had arrived in time to save him, he had also seen his mad attack on the Skandian. He groaned. Halt was so going to kill him.

Will opened his eyes, and when he saw nothing but trees above him, he slowly sat up, sure that Halt had saved him and that he was about to see his mentor sitting next to him, cradling a cup of coffee with Tug and Abelard snorting in the background. Even though he would probably be angry about Will's recent stupidity, it would be a great relief to see Halt again.

There was a figure sitting next to him and Will blinked to bring him into focus. It took him less than a second to realize that the figure was too large to be his mentor, and that thought was confirmed as the face of a Skandian suddenly loomed in front of him. There was no smell of freshly brewed coffee, no Tug and Abelard and no Halt. He was still a captive.

Terrified, Will tried to back away into the comforting shadows of the trees before he realised that he probably shouldn't move so fast with an injured shoulder. He barely had enough time to scream as the wound flared in protest, before he blacked out and sunk, mercifully, back into oblivion.

* * *

**A/N**

**Thankyou to my absolutely brilliant beta, TwilightsCalling, who was able to get this done very fast as I cut it a bit close with sending this off to her before the update date.**

**I have now removed the origional The Black Castle Story, and removed 'Revised' from the title of this one. Hopefully that's not too confusing for people. With any luck I will have this story up to the same point the last one was in no time! **

**I am aware that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last one, and I promise that the chapters will get longer from here on in as I will have more time to edit them and to think up things to add.**

**I just got back from a science camp (which was really full on and exteemly exhausting) where I had no internet and got to set my hand on fire with acetone and use it to explode hydrogen filled balloons, which kind of made up for the no internet... (Hehehe, I'm not a pyro, what are you on about? *looks accusingly at readers*)**

**Please let me know what you think of this chapter! I love to hear from my readers! It makes me go all warm and fuzzy, grin like a maniac, and think _'suck on that, Mrs. Wright, I can write!' _(Mrs. Wright was my english teacher the previous year. She is an idiot and completely killed my muse for months. GRRRRRRR... :/ )**

**Ali Ranger51**


	3. Chapter 3: Morgarath

Chapter 3

Will awoke to a dull ache in his shoulder and collarbone, and a nauseous swaying. It took him a few minutes to make sense of the strange rocking sensation and realize that he was being carried. It took him slightly longer to remember why. He had been injured and captured. Halt hadn't rescued him. At least, he hadn't, _yet_. Halt would come. He just knew it; his mentor had never let him down before.

Focusing on his current situation, Will wished that the man would just put him down and let him sleep. He felt very tired, but Will supposed that was because of his injury. Didn't people normally feel tired after they lost a lot of blood?

The man that was carrying him wasn't being very gentle, and he walked as if he was trying to personally flatten and annihilate every single blade of grass and stick in the surrounding area. _Stomp. Stomp. Stomp._ The sound reverberated through Will's head, starting a hot throb behind his eyes that beat in time to the man's footsteps. _Stomp. Stomp. Stomp._

Will let out a groan of relief when the giant carrying him finally stopped moving, and placed him, rather too roughly for Will's taste, on a low wooden bench, inside what he could only assume was a tent. He had heard the rustling of oilskin as they entered, but he was far too tired to be bothered with opening his eyes to find out for sure. He just wanted his head to stop spinning and aching, and for the pain in his shoulder to go away.

"Ahh, good. He's still alive. I would have been very disappointed if the boy had died before I could examine him, Captain." The voice was cruel and mocking, and Will shook in terror as he guessed the man's identity. _Please let it be just a nightmare. Please let me wake up. Please, someone, anyone, don't let that be Morgarath!_

"The correct title is Jarl, my Lord." Erak's tone was cold and clearly showed his disgust of the other man, but he couldn't match the first speaker's outright cruelty.

"Well, _Captain_, I will try and remember that in case I ever have to deal with your barbarian of a country ever again," said Morgarath, Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night, former Baron of Gorlan fief. Will could tell that he held nothing but contempt for Erak.

There was a shift in the light above him and Will tried desperately to remain still and silent, pretending to be asleep. However, he was unable to hold in his gasp of pain as Morgarath leaned over and grabbed the bronze oakleaf amulet at Will's throat.

After meticulously examining the amulet, harshly pulling on the chain as he did so, Morgarath let it fall to sit back around Will's neck. He straightened and beckoned forth one of his generals. Will felt the cold hand of premonition grip his heart in its smothering grasp, as he lay perfectly still, not even daring to breathe.

"Take the boy back to my castle in the Mountains." Will began to shake, desperately hoping that everything that had happened since the burning of the bridge was just an especially vivid nightmare. Morgarath's hatred of rangers was legendary, and ironically, Halt had sparked that hatred when he had defeated Morgarath at Hackam Heath. What would Morgarath do to him when he discovered that he was Halt's apprentice?

General Owen, one of Morgarath's men since the last war, had come forward when Morgarath had beckoned, and he bowed low before he answered. "Of course, my Lord."

Before Owen could shout for one of his men to pick up the boy, Morgarath spoke once more, his voice low and threatening, "However, General, if the boy is to die on the way there or before I can arrive back to see him, I will make sure that you and your men pay in blood for your disobedience."

Bowing low once more, but with a slight tremble this time, Owen left the tent.

"Now my Lord, about payment-"

"Payment? What payment, Captain Erak? You surely don't expect to be paid for doing your duty and handing me an Araluen spy, do you?" Morgarath hissed coldly, leaving no room for argument. "Besides, the boy is next to worthless until he is able to regain consciousness for more than a few seconds. Perhaps, Captain, next time you will bring such a valuable captive directly to me, rather than after you had made him useless as a slave."

With a self-satisfied smirk, Morgarath, Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night, left the furious Jarl, and called his men to ready themselves for war.

* * *

"Oh thank God!" Cassandra exclaimed in relief.

She had been walking through the night for two days before she reached the Guardian Mountain Range, meaning that she was nearing the plains of Uthal. Luckily, she had been able to find a small spring and a clump of wild blackberries the evening before attempting to pass through the mountains. Despite having long geography lessons and learning the layout of the kingdom's fiefs from a young age, Cassandra was mostly unfamiliar with these mountains, having never actually visited them before.

There was no visible pass through the mountains that Cassandra could see, although there was bound to be one somewhere near here; Morgarath would have needed it to attack her father's army the way he had planned.

After eating her fill of blackberries, Cassandra had woven a small basket from some common water reeds to enable her to take some berries with her. She didn't know when she would be able to find food again. Unfortunately, she had been unable to weave a basket tight enough to hold more than a mouthful of water. Learning how to find water and food while alone in the bush was not part of her upbringing, and Cassandra was fast coming to the conclusion that there were some serious holes in her education.

By the time that she had given up on making a watertight basket, it was dark and Cassandra had found herself falling into a dream like trance. She had been afraid to sleep before now, as she had felt too exposed to wandering Wargals while crossing the Solitary Plain to allow herself to relax enough to sleep. Before she knew it, the young girl was fast asleep, curled into a tight protective ball.

When Cassandra finally awoke, it was nearly mid-afternoon and sunlight was streaming in patches through the trees above her. Cassandra lay still for a moment before her stomach cramped and heaved, her mouth filling with bile.

Turning on her side, the crown princess vomited up the majority of the blackberries she had eaten the night before. After eating the amount she had on an empty stomach, Cassandra shouldn't have been surprised that the berries had made a comeback, but she was. Quickly, she rinsed the bitter taste of her sick out of her mouth.

Hands trembling from hunger and exhaustion, the young girl picked and ate more berries, making sure to do so slowly and to refrain from eating more than a handful of the juicy black fruits. Cassandra knew that no matter how hungry she was, she couldn't risk throwing up again, it would only dehydrate her further, and she had no idea when she would next be able to find a source of water.

Clutching tightly to her now full basket of blackberries, and angrily muttering at her still cramping stomach, Cassandra set off down a goat trail, hoping frantically that it would lead her to her father, and to safety.

* * *

It was nearly four days and several wrong turns before Cassandra managed to pass through the Guardian Mountains and spot her father's army. Despite her apprehension about her journey through the mountains, the young princess had found that it was easier than she had anticipated to find food and water. Fruits were bountiful in this part of the kingdom and the mountains held many fresh springs and pools of water.

As Cassandra was making her way down and out of the Guardian Mountains, she had caught her first glimpse of her father's army in the dawn light, the tents littering the plains between the foot of the mountains and the base of Thorntree Forest.

As she had gotten closer, the girl had been able to hear the distant clanging of metal on metal, and spot the Araluen Flag and her father's personal standard, a stylised Golden Eagle, flying from various tents.

She was almost safe. Slowly Cassandra began to make out the individual parts of an army this size. There were the footmen, the cavalry, the cook sites, and of course, the command tents, smack bang in the middle, where she knew she would be able to find her father.

Striding confidently from the cover of the surrounding trees, just over 6 hours after first glimpsing the campsite, Cassandra walked purposefully towards the camp and there was a shout of alarm as a sentry spotted her.

"Halt, in the King's name!" Cassandra was shocked. She had never been challenged by one of her father's men before. With a start, the Crown Princess thought about how she must look and realized that it was no wonder that she hadn't been recognised. Her newly cropped hair was matted and tangled with leaves and twigs, and she hadn't had a wash in over a fortnight. There were a bags under her eyes and her clothes were little more than rags. Really, it was no wonder that the man had stopped her. She looked more like a stray beggar than a princess.

Newly self-conscious, Cassandra ran her hands over her breeches as she spoke to the guard. "I have urgent news for King Duncan. I must speak with him immediately." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how ridiculous she must sound. At the same time, she realized that she should keep her identity a secret until she could get a meeting with her father. How she was going to convince the sentry that it was essential she meet with the King of Araluen was going to be the problem.

The sentry silently opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to decide what to say. The girl's accent was Araluen, but she obviously shouldn't be in the middle of an army that was reading itself for war. She spoke with authority, which contrasted sharply with her muddy appearance. She was trembling with exhaustion, and as he watched, she shook her head in a useless attempt to clear her muddied thoughts. Nodding to himself, the sentry opened his mouth as he made up his mind. "Follow me and I will take you to the cooking tents. You look like you need a good meal and I will ask one of my superiors to come and see you."

Her stomach grumbled as they arrived at the cooking tents and her shaking intensified in response to the smell of food. The last decent meal she had had was a hot beef stew with Horace, Will, and Gilan. _Gilan_. All of a sudden, Cassandra got an idea. "Sir, instead of finding one of your commanding officers, would you be able to find Rangers Gilan and Halt for me? Just tell Ranger Gilan that Evanlyn is here to see him. He will understand." _Hopefully,_ Cassandra added silently to herself, as she eyed a dripping roast that was cooking off to her right.

The sentry frowned silently to himself and before muttering an almost inaudible, "Yes ma'am." The rangers were a mysterious lot and rumour had it that they dabbled in the black arts. He would have preferred to have nothing to do with the sharp-eyed bowmen, but the girl looked ready to collapse, and he was smart enough to realize that she had important information to pass on. He left the girl in the competent hands of Master Chubb, who was in charge of the busy cooking tents, and went in search of the two rangers.

* * *

**A/N**

**I studied the map of Araluen in the books, and realized that to get to Duncan's Army, Evanlyn/Cassandra would have to pass through the mountains between the fissure and the plains. They didn't have a name (as far as I am aware), so I decided to name them the _Guardian Mountains_. What do you guys think of my random place naming abilities? I was going to make up a bit of a back-story with the origin of the name, but I thought that it would be unnecessary. It's unlikely I'll ever mention them again. (But, you never know. Sometimes my characters just hijack my story for a bit, and when/if they give it back, they are in weird places, and I'm left to rearrange all the pieces of shattered plotline…)**

**I did a quick scan through the books and couldn't find out what Duncan's personal standard was, so I made one up; A Golden Eagle. Cassandra's is a Red Hawk, so I decided to go with the bird theme. If there someone knows Duncan's actual standard, can you please let me know so I can fix it? Or tell me if you like mine? I even did a Google check to see if there are Golden Eagles in England. (There are. Aparently. I'm not to happy with Google at the moment. It failed me for the first time a few days ago...)**

**I'm taking a vote with my readers and betas about whether to use Ranger with a capital (like the books) or ranger (as follows most spelling rules). What do you think? I'm leaning toward Ranger myself. It just looks funny without a capital… So far I have been writing it without the capital, and, depending on what you think I will go back and change it. For the moment though, I thought I would just keep using ranger, to keep everything consistent.**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, and please review and let me know what you think so far! Reviews are what gets me out of bed in the morning! Literally. The first thing I do in the morning (other than making my alarm shut up, of course) is check my emails. I just love it when I see that someone has alerted/favourited/reviewed one of my stories!**

**Thanks again to my beta, TwilightsCalling!**

**Ali Ranger51**


	4. Chapter 4: Evanlyn

**Chapter 4**

The rather confused sentry had only made it a few paces from the cooking ground when it occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea where to find the rather elusive Rangers.

He hadn't come across a Ranger camp before, nor did he have any idea if there even _was_ one. He swore silently to himself as he turned on the spot, slowly wondering where exactly he was supposed to go. Finally, he decided to go in the direction of the command tents. After all, despite their strange talents, Rangers were important and influential people so; it made sense that there would be at least one Ranger at the command pavilion. Even if the two Rangers he was looking for weren't there, another Ranger would probably know where to find them.

With this definite course of action in mind, the sentry strode off towards the centre of the camp, weaving his way through messengers and wandering knights as he went.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir?"

Ranger Commander Crowley was slightly startled at being addressed by what appeared to be a common sentry. Normally common folk avoided the Rangers, but he hastily covered up his confusion before answering the sentry, "May I help you?"

The sentry wouldn't look him in the eye as he replied and shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, his confidence in his plan of action wilting somewhat now that he was face to face with an actual Ranger. "I hope so, sir," he began, taking a deep breath. "I was looking for Ranger Halt and Ranger Gilan, and I was wondering if you might be able to tell me where I could find them."

Crowley refrained from rolled his eyes at the formal speech of the man, but he was used to getting this kind of reaction from people. People tended to only interact with Rangers when they were forced to, so he, being the leader of the mysterious Ranger corps, was avoided as much as possible.

"Both Rangers are in a meeting with the King at the moment I'm afraid, sir. May I pass on a message?" Despite himself, Crowley was curious. He normally wouldn't play messenger, but he wanted to know why this sentry needed to talk to two Rangers.

"I, um, yes sir," stuttered the sentry, rather thrown by this turn of events. He hadn't been expecting to be able to finish the task so easily; of course, finding someone willing to pass on his message was definitely helpful, even if somewhat unexpected. "There is a girl waiting at the cooking tents sir. I met her about an hour ago as she approached the west side of the camp, and when I asked her who she was, she just asked me to take her to King Duncan. I took her to the cooking tents instead, so she asked me to find Rangers Gilan and Halt, and to tell them that she wants to see them."

_Curious_, pondered Crowley. He gave a small frown as he tried to figure out exactly what an apparently common girl was doing wandering around a battlefield and why she would ask to speak to two specific Rangers. "Did she mention why she wanted to talk to Halt and Gilan?"

"She said only to tell them that Evanlyn was waiting in the cooking tents. I assume that was her name, sir. Evanlyn." He added rather unnecessarily. Once more, Crowley managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Sure that the sentry had nothing else of use, Crowley dismissed the man and assured him that he would pass on the message before heading towards the command tent where a rather important meeting was currently taking place. He was late as it was. As he pushed open the tent flap, he wondered who the girl was. _Evanlyn._ He was sure that he had heard that name before somewhere, and there was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he was missing something. Well, he was sure that he wouldn't have to wait very long to find out.

* * *

Gilan was rather mystified as to why he had been invited to a meeting of the War Council, as he wasn't a senior Ranger, although he suspected that Halt was trying to keep him busy to stop him running off to find Will and the Princess.

Looking around, Gilan could tell that he didn't really belong there. He was by far the lowest ranked person in the tent. There were three Senior Barons; Arald of Redmount, Thorn of Drayden and Fergus of Carraway, along with his father, Sir David, Battlemaster of Carraway, and field commander of the King's army, all sitting around a long wooden table. King Duncan himself sat at the head of the table with Halt sitting to his right, as he was one of the King's most trusted advisors. Crowley was late.

_Speak of the devil_, Gilan thought. Crowley had just walked into the tent and nodding informally to the King, he joined Halt and Gilan at their spot around the table rough wooden table. As the Barons continued their talk of tactics and other necessities of the coming war, Crowley lent close to Halt's ear and beckoned to Gilan with a wink.

"So," Halt said, raising his eyebrow, "how come you're late?"

"I was talking to a sentry." From the smug look on Crowley's face Gilan assumed that this was supposed to mean something to him and he said so.

"He was looking for you two. Do you have any idea why?"

"No." Halt had little patience for Crowley's stalling tactics and decided to get right to the point. "Did you ask him what he wanted? Surely a brilliant mind such as yourself would have thought to ask the sentry why he was looking for us." Halt didn't bother to disguise the sarcasm in his voice.

After stalling for a moment longer, Crowley decided to tell them. Hopefully they would figure out what the cryptic message meant. "He said a girl named Evanlyn was waiting for you at the cooking tents. Said she had arrived on the west side of camp looking exhausted and filthy. Apparently she requested you two specifically and told the sentry that you would know who she was."

Halt was looking confused. He had no idea why a girl named Evanlyn was asking for him, so it was a bit of a shock when Gilan shouted loudly beside him.

"Oh my god!" Everyone in the tent turned to look at Gilan as he shouted and followed the exclamation with some rather colourful swear words. Obviously, the name meant something to him.

"Care to explain, Gilan?" Despite his suspicions about the girl, Crowley hadn't expected such a violent response to his news.

"Yes, care to explain, Gilan?" This time it was King Duncan who spoke, holing up a hand to stall Sir David, who looked about ready to give his son a sharp clout around the head for his language. Duncan wasn't the kind of man to miss things, and he had a feeling that whatever Crowley had just told Gilan was rather important.

"Sorry, sir." Gilan sent a guilty look at his father before continuing. "Crowley just told me that a girl named Evanlyn has arrived at the camp and has requested to see Halt and myself." Breathless, he waited for the King to recognize the significance of the name the girl had given.

As he saw the sudden recognition in Duncan's eyes, Gilan told the curious onlookers what was going on. "Evanlyn was the name Princess Cassandra used when she wished to keep her identity a secret in Celtica. I think that she and Will managed to escape their captors and are here in camp."

Without further hesitation, Duncan ran from the tent, closely followed by Halt and Gilan, leaving a rather stunned Crowley to scramble after them.

* * *

Evanlyn had just finished her third bowl of beef stew, when she heard a commotion behind her. The young girl turned and began to scan the tents behind her, just in time to see her father, the King, run up to Master Chubb, gesturing wildly. He was closely followed by two men in grey and green mottled cloaks—Rangers. The taller man she recognized as Gilan, and an older man whom she assumed to be Will's mentor, Halt.

The cowl had fallen from the grizzled Ranger's face, and as his sharp eyes scanned the tents, she could clearly see that he cared deeply for his apprentice.

Cassandra felt a stab of pity and guilt, before she pushed it to the back of her mind and stood up, the empty wooden bowl in her hands falling to the ground with a clatter. "Dad!" she cried, her voice carrying over the busy campground.

* * *

Duncan had arrived at the cooking tents when he found Master Chubb. He frantically asked the chef where the shorthaired girl had been taken, but before Chubb could answer, he heard a shout behind him. He recognized the voice instantly, despite having not heard it in months. It was his daughter. Turning sharply, he easily spotted her, covered in mud and dirt, as she rushed forward, and flung herself, sobbing, into his embrace.

"Cassie," The King muttered softly as he let his tears of joy run freely down his face.

Gilan politely looked away from his King, and began scanning the area where Evanlyn had come from, trying to spot Will. He saw Halt standing beside him anxiously doing the same, obviously expecting his missing apprentice to appear any second from a gap between some tents. Gilan began to feel a sense of foreboding as no small green figure appeared.

Halt felt the same uneasy sense of foreboding. Pushing the feeling away, the gruff Ranger turned to a very bewildered Master Chubb. "Where is the boy?" he demanded.

"What boy? The girl arrived alone."

At Chubb's puzzled tone, Cassandra pulled herself reluctantly out of her father's comforting arms and turned her tear stained face towards the two Rangers.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Cassandra couldn't say it. Her eyes begged the two men to understand.

Halt's blood went cold. His voice went quiet and deadly as he spoke once more, and his polite tone made him even more terrifying. "What do you mean, Princess? What are you sorry for?"

Cassandra gave a small sob and she began to shake as she looked the greying Ranger in the eyes. "Will's dead. We-we were escaping but everything went wr-wrong. They chased us and th-the Skandian he-he-he killed him. He was trying to save me, to give me time to escape and the b-b-bastard killed him! I'm sorry. I am truly sorry." Her voice was desperate as she tried to make Halt understand. "Will was my fr-friend. I didn't want him to die for me!" Cassandra's voice finally broke and her father wrapped his arms around her, gently pressing her head into his chest.

Halt couldn't believe it. It was impossible. It was all a giant mistake. But he knew it wasn't. He sunk to the ground and allowed the world around him to fade away, his eyes filling with tears as his body was raked by silent tremors.

Without prompting, various memories rose to the front of his mind. Will, a guilty expression on his face, as he was caught stealing pies. Will, laughing as he darted in and out of the trees, his Ranger cloak darting around behind him, filled with life and energy. Will, gently praising Tug as he fed the barrel-chested pony an apple after a day's lesson. Will, determination showing in every line of his body as he drew the bowstring back to touch his cheek, the flaming arrow licking at his hand. Will, holding a glinting bronze oakleaf amulet as he looked Halt in the eye, finally having found a home in the small wooden cabin in the woods; finally having found a family.

Dimly, Halt realized that there were tears slowing making their way down his face, and he made to wipe them away before he stopped and let his hand fall back down to his side. There was no shame in letting his grief be shown. Will deserved these tears.

* * *

King Duncan was shocked. He felt a pang of guilt for the death of a Ranger Apprentice that he had never met. However, at the same time he was infinitely grateful to the boy. He had saved his daughter, and he would make sure the boy, Will, would be remembered for his sacrifice.

What puzzled Duncan though, were the reactions of the two Rangers. Halt had seemed to crumple within himself, and Duncan saw with shock that there were tears running down his face as he stared blankly into the sky, not truly seeing. Even more puzzling than Halt's reaction though was Gilan's. The young Ranger hadn't moved. He seemed frozen to the spot. As Duncan watched Gilan with growing concern he finally moved, quick as a snake.

Gilan drew his sword, heedless of his surroundings, and swung it viciously, point first, into the ground with an ear-splitting shout. _Will was dead! And it was his fault! If he hadn't left them then Will would still be alive!_ He stared at the quivering blade for a long moment, before slowly pulling it out of the dirt. He didn't bother to sheath the weapon, and simply held it in his tightly clenched fist as he spun around and left the cooking grounds, brushing passed a dumbstruck Crowley as he went.

* * *

**A/N**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and I'm sorry I haven't replied to any the previous week. Things have been a bit hectic where I am at the moment.**

**I live in New Zealand, and as some of you might have heard, there was a serious earthquake on the 22nd, centered around our second biggest city, Christchurch. It was the middle of the day and a lot of office buildings and churchs collased. So far over 150 bodies have been found, but there is still somewhere between 50-200 people missing, depending on your source. To be honest, I think the media is downplaying it. My dad has some close friends in Christchurch and they said that there were buses full of people that were crushed by falling buildings, and that the body count doesn't include them. I have a great-aunt and uncle, and a great-grandma living in the affected areas, but thankfully they are alright. I live about 4-5 hours drive out of Chch, so thankfully my immidiate family and friends are ok. Many of the evacuees have taken come to the areas around where I live, and there have been some students that have joined my school. **

**New Zealand is a relatively small country, so everyone here has been hit really hard by this. Pretty much everyone knows someone who has been affected by the quake. **

**Thank you to my beta TwilightsCalling for doing such a wonderful job! This chapter was quite a bit below my normal standard, and more than one word was missing a letter or had some other blindingly obvious error... **

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to those that lost their lives or loved ones in the Christchurch Quake, and I am praying for a miracal that someone could still be pulled alive from the rubble.**

**Ali Ranger51**


	5. Chapter 5: Spreading News

**Chapter 5**

Will felt slightly foggy, and it took him a couple minutes to remember that the rocking sensation he felt was a wagon, and that he was currently travelling through a dark and ominous looking forest towards the Mountains of Night and Rain. He wasn't sure how long they had been travelling for, but he didn't think that it had been longer than four or five days.

After he had been carried from Morgarath's tent, he had been thrown into the back of a wagon. Will couldn't remember any more after that for quite a while, so he assumed that he had passed out, but whether from exhaustion or terror, he didn't know.

When he finally awoke, he found that the bandage on his shoulder was fresh and clean, and from the tight, but relatively pain-free feeling under it, someone had been continuing to tend to his wound. Will assumed that General Owen had taken the order to keep him alive very seriously as he was also given regular meals.

Once Owen had discovered that Will was able to remain conscious for more than a half hour at a time, they had shackled him to a sturdy iron ring in the floor of the wagon. Will realised that the ring and wagon must have been used for transporting prisoners before, as everything was very efficient and sturdy. There was no way he would have been able to break off the shackle or any part of the chain even if he had been healthy.

As the wagon travelled through the wild and intimidating forest surrounding the Mountains that hid and protected Morgarath's black castle, Will began making plans to escape. He hid a small part of every meal in the folds of his shirt, and asked General Owen questions whenever the man was willing to answer them, mostly as he was tending to his shoulder.

The man talked about the last war sixteen years ago, and his hatred of the Wargals. He told Will that he had been in his last year of Battleschool, training to become a knight, before he had left to join Morgarath. He didn't say why he had left, but Will got the feeling that he would have stayed in Battleschool if he could have.

He wasn't stupid though, he knew that the only reason Owen was even answering his questions was because he felt sorry for him, and Will tried to avoid talking or even thinking about what was going to happen to him when they arrived at their destination. Owen seemed to avoid the topic too, appearing to pretend as he changed the dressing on Will's wound that the shackles didn't exist and that they were on the same side. Will wished that they were. He got the feeling that Owen would be a useful person to have watching his back.

Will rolled over and curled into a ball, pressing his knees into his stomach, wishing that he had his Ranger cloak instead of the mangy rags that he was currently using as a blanket. He watched the path fading away behind the wagon as he fell into a restless sleep, knowing that Halt would be tracking them, and that soon he would rescue him.

* * *

The news that a heroic Ranger apprentice had rescued the King's daughter from the hands of the enemy spread quickly through the camp. Unfortunately, so did the news that her rescuer had died in the process.

Horace was resting on a log at the outer rim of the practice fields that had been set up on the western side of the camp. He had spent all morning at the practice yard and was getting frustrated that even after a week at the camp, only some of the senior apprentices would spar with him. He couldn't understand why the boys his own age avoided him.

What Horace didn't realise was that the other apprentices found his skill intimidating and that they couldn't match him stroke for stroke like Gilan could.

Sighing, Horace picked up his practice sword, headed towards a group of young men who were standing talking off to his right, and gathered his courage to ask them to spar with him. But when he heard what they were talking about, he froze and a chill spread through his body as suddenly as if he had been thrown into a pool of ice.

"I was talking to my cousin who saw her return. He said that she was really filthy, and that the King was crying and everything. I wasn't even aware that the girl had been kidnapped, but I suppose that he was keeping it quiet."

"People are saying that there was a boy, a Ranger's apprentice who was with her when she was captured, but that he died in the escape."

"I heard that too. My dad said that he saved her life, that he was the reason that she could get away."

"I heard that he was caught as they were running away, and that they hung him from a tree."

"I heard that there was a massive fight, and that one of Morgarath's men stabbed him in the back as he tried to protect her."

"I heard that Morgarath himself caught him, and that he was tortured before they slit his throat. I bet it was really bloody. What a way to go."

"I heard that too, and that they sent his body back to Ranger Halt in a crate, because the boy was his apprentice."

Horace couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't think. His felt as if an anvil had struck him in the chest. His entire body shook and his sword fell to the ground with a clatter. Will. They were talking about Will!

* * *

Sir Rodney had been supervising the training of the younger recruits, when he saw Horace collapse in the middle of the field. Rather startled by the seemingly random action, Rodney ran to his stricken charge and swore loudly when he saw that the boy was lying on the ground shaking and crying.

"Will." It was just one word but it was said with such stricken grief that the Battlemaster instantly realized what had happened. He had thought that Horace had known.

The King had called Rodney, Chubb, Lady Pauline, and Baron Arald to a meeting early yesterday evening and had told them what had happened to Will. Each of those present had met the smiling, laughing boy, and had watched him grow up as a ward of Redmount. Although they might not have known him very well personally, each of them grieved for his loss. He had saved the lives of Rodney and the Baron during the fiasco at the ruins of Gorlan, and Pauline in particular knew how hurt Halt would be over his death.

Rodney had presumed that someone had told Will's former ward mates about his death, but he now realized that in the shock and confusion, Will's friends had been forgotten. The news was all over the camp by now, and Rodney listened in growing horror as the same apprentices that Horace had heard continued to discuss various rumours they, each getting wilder by the minute. As Rodney gently lifted his young apprentice off the ground, he hoped that the others didn't hear a garbled version like Horace had.

* * *

Alyss was busy arranging the various maps that the King and his advisors were using in preparation for war. It was a delicate job and each map had to be gently rolled up and placed in its proper spot. She was carrying the final bundle over to a chest in the corner when her former ward mate Jenny came sprinting over and embraced her, spreading the delicately drawn maps all over the dusty ground. Jenny sobbed as if the world was collapsing around her and the plump girl clung desperately to her young friend. Alyss was stunned. She knew that Jenny would start crying over just about anything, as she had a rather large heart, but this was different, much more serious. Something had really upset the normally vibrant girl.

"Jenny? What's going on? What's the matter?" she queried, gently smoothing Jenny's honey coloured hair.

"I just heard! God, it's horrible Alyss! Will! How could this happen?" The young cook was distraught and tears were running unhindered down her cheeks. She froze however as she saw the puzzled expression on her companion's face. "Oh my gosh, don't you know? I thought you would know! Master Chubb just told me before and I thought that Lady Pauline would have told you!" Jenny looked positively terrified at having to break the news to the older girl.

Alyss took a moment to ponder the speed at which Jenny could talk and the fact that she could do it seemingly without needing to breathe, before she attempted to calm her year mate. "Jenny," she began firmly, "take a deep breath, and tell me what is going on. What exactly did you think Pauline had told me?"

"It's Will, oh, Alyss, it's horrible! How could something like that happen?" At the young courier's stern look, Jenny realized that she was still rambling and that she hadn't actually answered the question. Her sobs quieted somewhat as she took a deep breath and continued. "He's dead, Alyss. I, I just…" Jenny broke off as she started sobbing again, as if voicing the fact made it more real.

Slowly, Alyss embraced her friend once more, as she realized what Jenny had said. Tears dripped down her slender face, and she slowly lowered her friend to the ground until they were both sitting in the dirt, heedless of the carefully drawn maps that crumpled underneath them.

It was unthinkable that she would never again see Will smile, never hear him laugh or hear his joking voice. She had never realized how much Will had meant to her and now he was gone. She felt the world dissolve around her as she closed her eyes and let her grief overwhelm her.

* * *

Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain, looked at the combination of men and Wargals in front of him and smiled, a sharp-toothed grin that caused some of his men to tremble.

His bridge may have been destroyed, but Morgarath still had no doubt about whom the victor would be. Duncan and his army were sitting neatly where he wanted them, and he would crush them between his main army and the Skandian mercenaries that were currently marching through Thorntree Forest.

Slowly, deliberately, Morgarath beckoned to his commanders. "Give the order to advance."

"CHARGE." The command echoed through the army like a wave as each of the men and Wargals took up the shout and ran forward with only bloodlust in mind.

On the other side of the battlefield, King Duncan watched as Morgarath's army charged towards them. "Get ready, here they come." There was no need for him to yell. His men could clearly hear him, waiting silently as they were. Looking grimly towards the approaching army, Duncan drew his longsword and calmly started giving orders to Sir David and his other commanders. No matter what Morgarath did, they would be ready.

* * *

_**A/N**_

_**Thank you to my beta, TwilightsCalling! And thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! I love hearing from you and reading what you think of my story!**_

_**Ali Ranger51**_


	6. Chapter 6: Forest Ambush

**Chapter 6**

Halt walked with his cowl covering his face and his body in shadow as he led a troop of infantrymen through the fens. He wished the men could move faster, but they dared not in case they missed one of the path markers and ended up in the swamp. Gilan was leading another troop somewhere off to Halt's left.

Once King Duncan had learned that there would be a force of Skandians attacking his army from the rear, he had held an emergency meeting of the war council. After a long debate, it had been decided that a special force of infantrymen would ambush and take out the Skandians before they reached the plains. Most of those present had been skeptical of the plan at first. One of the basic principals of warfare was to never split your forces, but after a lengthy discussion it had been agreed that the potential benefits outweighed the risks.

The fens were a massive swamp near the south-west coast of Araluen. For the most part, Rangers and Skandians were the only ones who could pass safely through it, mainly because they were the only ones who had any reason to. As Rangers were the kingdom's intelligence force they were in charge of mapping every inch of Araluen, and naturally this included the places that were normally avoided. Skandians, however, had a much less innocent reason for knowing their way around the fens. They had been sending raiding parties through the deadly swamp for as long as anyone could remember.

Halt thought that it was only natural that two Rangers lead the ambush, and had volunteered himself and Gilan for the task. He had jumped at the chance to get revenge on the people responsible for his apprentice's death. Though the Skandians that had actually killed Will wouldn't be involved in the fight, Halt knew that it would only be a matter of time before he managed to track them down. He had promised himself that. He would not rest until he had avenged Will, even if he had to go all the way to Skandia to do it. After the battle in the fens, Halt planned to melt away into the forest and wait with the Skandian wolfships for the crew that had killed Will to make their getaway. He would make sure that they never made it onto their ship.

Smiling grimly, Halt waved the men into position as he nocked an arrow and disappeared into the trees. Now that they had reached the designated ambush point, he was no longer needed to direct the men. The commanders would do that, and he and Gilan would be free to shoot at whoever they thought would look better with an arrow sticking out of their chest. _Which,_ Halt thought, _when you considered the giant hulking forms of Skandians, was the entire lot of them._ He had never had much patience for the sea-going pirates and recent events had erased any tolerance that he might have once had for them.

"They shouldn't be too far away now, Halt. We should be able to hear them soon, and with any luck, they'll walk right into the ambush. The ground here is good and solid, so our men shouldn't have any problems." Gilan had materialized seemingly out of thin air to stand beside Halt, and though his voice was calm and steady he was shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously, and he kept glancing towards the south to where the approaching army would appear.

Halt merely grunted in reply. He had noticed Gilan's out of character behavior, but had decided that there was nothing that he could do about it. Gilan was dealing with Will's death in his own way and Halt wouldn't interfere, so long as Gilan was able to keep his head when it was needed. Gilan would fight when the time came and Halt would make sure that his former apprentice didn't lose control or make any decision that could put him in danger. Halt would not lose another apprentice. Not if there was anything he could do about it.

Not longer than an hour later, a scout warned the waiting men that the approaching Skandians were ten minutes from the ambush site. Gilan, with a nod to the older ranger, left and took up his own position on the north side to await the arrival of the Skandians.

Halt watched him go, and keeping one eye on Gilan, he turned to the east and waited for the pirates to come into view. His targets would be those in charge and even though the wolfship captains had no recognizable insignia or any other display of rank, they would be easy to find. They would be the ones yelling the loudest.

With a roar, the assembled men ran out of the trees and charged towards the shocked Skandians just as they emerged into the arranged clearing. Halt watched and before the Skandians could form an effective shield wall, he had already identified four of their leaders. Within ten seconds, he had three arrows in the air and flying towards the men that he had noticed. He had no need to worry about the fourth as he trusted that Gilan would take care of him. As he began to scan the men again, he saw one of Gilan's arrows strike the man in the neck and he smiled in grim satisfaction.

The Skandians were putting up a good fight, but they were unprepared for a battle in the fens. Even though the ground here was a bit more firm than in the rest of the swamp, it was still less than ideal, and the Skandians were having problems keeping their footing. They were used to fighting in open ground and around buildings, not amongst trees and various swamp plants.

* * *

As the initial shock of the ambush wore off, Gilan shot the rest of his arrows into a group of Skandians that were fighting closest to him and he drew his sword and entered the fight on foot. He fought ferociously and cut down any Skandian who happened to have the misfortune to get in his way. There was no practiced grace in his movements, only calm, blank determination to take out as many Skandians as he could.

Gilan had managed to force his way into the centre of the fight when a particularly brave Skandian came hurtling towards right side, and he was forced to step back hurriedly to avoid the massive battleaxe that was suddenly all too close. Unfortunately, in stepping back, he tripped over the body of a fallen Skandian and fell to the ground with a crash.

Gilan was all of a sudden uncomfortably aware of the roaring of battle around him, and of his lack of armor. He had thought that the heavy armor that knights normally wore would be too cumbersome in the fens, so he had left it behind. He was mentally kicking himself for it now.

In a berserker rage, the Skandian gave an animalistic roar of triumph as he lifted his battleaxe above his head to deliver what would surely be a killing blow.

* * *

Halt had nearly emptied his second quiver when he saw that Gilan had abandoned his longbow and joined the battle with his sword. Halt knew that he would be next to useless against the Skandians with only his knives and even though he knew how to use a sword, he was no master like Gilan.

Instead, he contented himself with shooting any of the Skandians that got too close to Gilan for his liking; he didn't think that the younger Ranger had even noticed. He was too busy thinking about hacking and slashing any Skandian that he could reach to watch what was going on around him, which was a very bad thing in a close-quarters battle like this.

The battle was nearly over and the Skandians forces were almost annihilated. The only ones still fighting were near Gilan, and they were desperate. They had seen their comrades fall and those that were left were well aware that they were going to lose, and so in true Skandian style they had decided to take out as many of the Araluens as possible. Many of them had entered a berserker rage, and seemed not to notice the many cuts and injuries that they had acquired.

As Halt watched, he saw a berserker cut down four of the men on Gilan's right and then launch himself at Gilan. With horror, he watched as Gilan fell to the ground and he saw the Skandian raise his axe to strike. _No,_ thought Halt. _I will not lose Gilan too. _And in a blur of speed he sent two arrows towards the man. They struck their target directly in the heart, each arrow less an inch apart. The man was dead before he could even realize what had hit him.

* * *

Gilan watched in a stunned silence as two arrows struck his attacker in the chest and he realized dimly that Halt must have shot the man. He breathed a silent word of thanks to the older Ranger before he realized that he was still in danger. The Skandian fell forward with a large thump, and Gilan only just managed to roll out of the way before he sprang to his feet and snatched up his sword from the ground

Taking a deep breath and a moment to look around, Gilan noticed that the fight was almost over. There were few Skandians left fighting.

Glancing at the corpses that littered the ground, Gilan was relived to find that most of the dead were Skandian. As he watched, some well-placed arrows took out the last fighters, and he saw Halt slowly picking his way towards him. "Gilan!"

"Yes, Halt?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Gilan realized how tired he was. Shaking his head slightly to keep himself alert, he moved to see what Halt wanted. There was more to do after all. They still needed to make it back to the plains, and most likely, they would be needed to fight there as well.

"I'm going to continue onwards to find the Skandian ships. I need you to lead the men back. Take the shields and those ridiculous helmets from the Skandians, and make sure that everyone who is well enough to fight has one." Seeing the puzzled expression on Gilan's face, Halt decided that more explanation was needed. "Morgarath will be expecting to see Skandians attack us from the rear and if the men put on the shields and helmets then they could pass as Skandians. If Duncan were to pretend to fight you, then Morgarath wouldn't realize that the attack was false which leaves Duncan free to launch a surprise attack, say, with the cavalry. He could have the army split down the middle leaving a clear line of passage for the cavalry to get to the Wargals."

Gilan was looking at his former mentor with awe. "Halt, that's genius! Morgarath will have no idea what hit him!" He wondered silently how long it had taken Halt to think up this plan, but he wasn't tired anymore.

"You just need to find some way to alert the King that the 'Skandians' aren't a real threat, but I trust that you can figure something out?" Halt raised his eyebrow, and his tone was one Gilan remembered from long nights discussing strategy with the man when he had been an apprentice.

Gilan nodded quickly to Halt. An idea was already forming in his head. "Ok. Good luck with the ships." As Gilan spoke, Halt was already turning and moving away from the ambush site.

Gilan didn't need to ask why Halt wanted to go to the wolfships. He knew. He just wished that he could have gone too. Gilan would have loved to get his hands on the men that killed Will, but he knew that he was needed to lead the men back to the Plains, and then he would be needed to fight there. Duty came first, and while his most pressing duty was to the kingdom, Halt's was to his fallen apprentice.

* * *

**A/N**

**I hope you liked the chapter! This one was always one of my favourites, even though I find it tricky to write battles.**

**Thank you to my beta, TwilightsCalling, and to everyone who has reviewed so far! I love getting reviews, and they make my day. I always reply, sometimes it just takes me a week... (I have a special folder in my email account where I move them to so I can keep all my lovely reviewes forever, and I only move them there when I have replied. I feel like I haven't earned the right to put them in my treasured review folder if I haven't replied, so please review! I'll try not to be lazy this week, and get out replies as soon as possible!)**

**On a side note I have a meeting with a teacher tomorrow to see if I can go on a year long school exchange to Japan. (Not the flooded and broken part.) I suck at Japanese...**

**Ali Ranger51**


	7. Chapter 7: Deceptions

**Chapter 7**

Erak was facing a dilemma. He had agreed to fight for Morgarath, and that meant that he was honor bound to follow through. On the other hand, he and his men hadn't been paid yet. Erak had been skeptical of the plan from the beginning. In his opinion, fancy plans such as this were unreliable; take out one element and the whole thing would come collapsing down around your ears.

After the bridge had burnt down, Erak had still been willing to fight for Morgarath, as there had still been a good chance that they would win and get a reasonable amount of booty. After meeting with Morgarath though, Erak wasn't so sure. They were still just as likely to win, but now he doubted that Morgarath would let him and his crew leave with anything good. There was no point putting his men at risk if they wouldn't gain anything from it.

For the past couple of days Erak and his men had been marching towards the Plains of Uthal, and he expected to arrive sometime in the next hour or so. When they reached the battleground Erak would decide whether or not he and his men would fight.

"Erak."

"Yes, Svengal?" Erak had noticed that his second in command had been sneaking sidelong glances at him for the past half an hour. It seemed that he had finally decided to speak.

"We're going to leave, aren't we?" Blunt and straight to the point. Skandians weren't the type of people to beat around the bush, especially when it involved money.

Erak looked his countryman in the eyes before replying. "Probably, Svengal. I wouldn't trust Morgarath any further than I could throw him, even though I would enjoy seeing just how far that might be."

Svengal chuckled. He would enjoy seeing how far the big Jarl could throw the arrogant 'Lord' as well. The man had given him the creeps when they had met with him to hand over the boy. For the boy's sake, he hoped that Morgarath would be killed in the up-coming battle; Svengal had no doubt of what would await him if Morgarath lived.

* * *

"Skandians! Skandians attacking from the rear!" Calmly, King Duncan turned to address the scout. It would do no good to let the men see his shock at the words.

If there were Skandians coming out of Thorntree then that would mean that Halt and his men had been defeated. Knowing the grim Ranger as he did, Duncan was sure that Halt would have died in the process. He never would have given up, not when he knew how much was relying on the Skandians being defeated.

Gesturing to his men to be patient, Duncan turned to study the group that had come out of Thorntree. Perhaps the scout was wrong. Perhaps their men had just been mistaken for Skandians.

Even from his position in the center of the army, Duncan found that he could make out the circular shields and horned helmets of the Skandians. Even more of a giveaway was the typical arrowhead formation that the Skandians were moving in.

As he studied them further, Duncan realized that there were only around 150 of them. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. If only 150 Skandians were still alive, that meant that Halt and Gilan had managed to take out around half of them. Still, 150 Skandians could do a lot of damage. Heck, a mere 20 Skandians was enough to do a fair amount of damage.

Suddenly, there was movement at the edge of the forest, about 500 meters below where the Skandians had emerged. A lone rider burst from the trees and his long green cloak marked him unmistakably as a Ranger. Anxiously Duncan looked to see if another rider would appear and he felt his stomach sink when no one did. The Ranger was a couple hundred meters from the trees before the Skandians spotted him, and some of them gave chase. They didn't have a chance though; the Ranger horse easily outstripped them, and the pursuing Skandians soon dropped back into the arrowhead formation as neatly as if they had never left.

"Send some men out to receive the Ranger. I want him brought directly to me." The scout turned quickly and ran back towards the rear of the army to deliver Duncan's orders.

In almost no time at all, Duncan could make out an exhausted looking Gilan riding through the mess of men to reach him.

"Quick, Gilan, we don't have much time. What happened? Did any of our men survive?" To Duncan's complete surprise the young Ranger merely grinned at his words and the King could only stand in stunned silence as Gilan explained what had happened in the Fens. He recovered quickly though and he made a split second decision before he turned and addressed Sir David. "Did you manage to catch all that? Can it be done?"

"Of course, Sir. It's a brilliant plan. If we don't part the men until the very last minute, then it's possible that Morgarath won't even see the cavalry until it's too late. Look at him now your majesty; he's brining all of his men forward to attack. He thinks to trap us between his Wargals and the Skandians, but since the 'Skandians' aren't a real threat, he is leaving his army completely exposed to any counterattacks that we might launch. We still have some archers and a smaller reserve cavalry unit waiting in the trees to the south, and if we were to attack him from the side…" Sir David trailed off and looked at his King and long time friend expectantly, waiting for the command to move.

Duncan grasped the concept immediately. "Do it." With a quick nod of acknowledgement to Duncan, the commander left to set the trap into motion.

* * *

"Lord Morgarath, Skandians have been spotted coming out of the Fens. They are about to engage Duncan's army." Morgarath smiled. Things were going according to plan. He didn't need the bridge after all. Duncan would still be crushed, and Araluen would be his.

"Give the order. I want all units to charge." The man bowed low before he left, shouting orders and waving his fist threateningly at the men and Wargals as he went.

The Lord of Night and Rain watched as the Skandians made contact with the rear of Duncan's army and they turned to face this new threat. The panic of the soldiers was evident and when they realized that Morgarath's wargals were also advancing on them the panic turned to pure chaos.

It was then that things started to go wrong for Morgarath. All of a sudden, Duncan's army turned as one to face the Wargals. The Skandian attack on the rear just melted away. It was as if it hadn't been there at all. With a sudden burst of rage, Morgarath realized that Duncan had pulled off the impossible and stolen victory right out from under his nose. There had never been any Skandians. Someone must have defeated Horth and his men in the Fens… Halt. It had to have been. There was no one else who could have pulled off the maneuver.

As Morgarath fumed at Halt, the situation continued to deteriorate. The pounding of hooves drummed through the air. Cavalry. At the call of a bugle, Duncan's men split down the middle and heavy warhorses charged into his Wargals. He felt a wave of panic pass through the ranks of his army and even as he forced it down, a barrage of arrows struck his army in the left flank. Archers had emerged from the trees and were firing volley after volley into his men, devastating the ranks.

More cavalry quickly followed the appearance of the archers, and Morgarath was fast realizing that the battle was lost. "Keep fighting! Anyone who runs will die; I will hunt them down, cut their throats and leave their bodies for the crows!" With that declaration, Morgarath turned his white charger towards the Mountains of Night and Rain and fled the battlefield.

* * *

Erak and his crew had made it into the Fens without much trouble. The Wargals had ignored their progress across the battlefield after he and his men had made mincemeat of any of the beasts stupid enough to get in their way. Now, with any luck, he wouldn't come across Horth, the Oberjarl's son, or any of his men who were involved in the attack from the Fens.

It had taken him a lot longer to traverse back through the Fens to the ships than it had on the way in. They had entered a long way south from where he had the first time and he wasn't very familiar with the paths in this part. He took a wrong turn more than once, and he had even had to have Svengal pull him out of the mud when he had missed a path marker and walked straight into a sinkhole.

It wouldn't be too long now before they reached the bay where they had anchored the ships. Erak had been smelling salt in the air for the past quarter of an hour. Soon he and his men would be out on the open ocean where they belonged and helping themselves to a large flagon of ale. His men knew it too. They had stopped complaining about the Fens, and Morgarath, and the whole of Araluen in general.

However, Erak knew that the peace wouldn't last. His men would start complaining the second they cast off. They would complain about not being able to fight, about getting no profit, and about not sticking their battleaxes into Morgarath while they had the chance. Erak couldn't blame them though. He would probably be complaining as well. This entire campaign had been an unmitigated disaster and he would be glad when it was behind them.

* * *

**A/N**

**Ok, this is the betaed version of CH 7! Not much has changed, except now it reads a little bit easier and should be a bit better. this chapter is rather short, so I'll try and make the next one longer to make up for it, and for my delay in updating.**

**I will try and keep updating as regularaly as possible, and get ahead on my pre-written chapters, but I don't know how successful I'll be. My counciller says that I'm a bit depressed because I have no drive to do anything, and I haven't for a while. I want to update/do homework/study/meet up with friends, but I just can't be bothered... I finally made myself see a counciller though, so hopefully I'll get better at following through with things. Monday is my updating target, and I do better when I have deadlines. **

**(Anyway, moving on from my random urge to share things with the internet...)**

**Thankyou for reading this chapter, and I hope that you won't give up on this story! I have tons of story ideas all noted down in my notebook, I just need to get the drive (and the time) to write them. The planning for this story is nearly 20 pages, and it's only half planned... I'm guessing this story will be around 60k+ words, at least. And that's not counting the dark version... It's on my bucket list to write more than 300k words for FFN.**

**Ali Ranger51**


	8. Chapter 8: Sabotage

**Chapter 8**

Halt made it to the small cove around mid-afternoon and was in a bad mood. He had nothing to do until the Skandians that had murdered his apprentice walked into his ambush. Adding to his rather formidable temper was the fact that he had left his food, coffee and flint stone back with Abelard on the other side of the fens. He had decided that the two horses would only slow them down because of the risky footing in the fens, so they had left them in a clearing out of sight of the main army before the battle with the Skandians.

Halt hoped that Gilan would make sure that Abelard was looked after and that nothing unexpected had thrown victory back in Morgarath's favor. Halt trusted Gilan with his life, and he shouldn't have encountered any problems getting back and implementing the plan, but he couldn't help worrying about his former apprentice. _What if he lost Gilan too? _

Resolutely, Halt pushed away the fear and looked down at the massive forms of the wolfships below him. The ships were bobbing up and down in the tide and they could be heard creaking and groaning upon the crashing waves. Halt snorted at the oversized figureheads and looking at the ships now, he was struck with a sudden flash of malicious inspiration.

Ships were rather breakable when left at port, especially when they were unattended. A wicked grin crossed his face; he had never liked ships. They smelled like tar, salt and sweat, and they lurched alarmingly every time they rode over a wave. Wolfships were the worst.

The Ranger glanced wistfully back in the direction of the fens and cursed himself loudly for his thoughtlessness in leaving his pack behind. He would have loved nothing more than to set the whole fleet ablaze, but without his flint that would be almost impossible to do, even if he could spare the time. Halt sighed. He would just have to settle for a little mindless destruction and sabotage. After all, he had to do _something_ until the Skandians arrived, and Halt doubted that they would be here for another few days at least. With a strange glint in his eyes and an uncharacteristic smile on his face, Halt set off in the direction of the closest ship.

* * *

Halt grunted as he pulled the last board free and looked around at the ship he was currently decimating. He had been using his saxe to split crucial boards, cut rigging and sails, and pry free rudders. Oars were floating in the water around the vessels and Halt had helped himself to the stores of dried food. What he hadn't wanted had been thrown overboard.

It had taken him a few hours and the sun was starting to set but he had managed to put four of the ships out of action.

As Halt moved to disembark, he heard a shout of surprise from the fens, and he turned quickly towards the trees, in shock. Skandians were here! Halt hadn't expected the crew that had murdered his apprentice to arrive for another few days, but this rather disordered group had to be them; to his knowledge, there were no other wolfship crews left after the battle in the fens, and even if a crew had managed to escape, they would have already left. This crew, the crew that had killed Will, must have deserted Morgarath and headed straight for the ships.

Halt cursed as he crouched down below the railing, trying to think past the part of him that was calling for bloodlust on behalf of Will. He should have noticed them before, but he had been too focused on his destruction of the ships, sure in his assumption that the crew would have stayed to fight with Morgarath.

In order to take out the crew, he had been relying heavily on the element of surprise and the fact that he would be under a covered position from which to shoot the Skandians when they arrived, but now he was nothing but a sitting duck because of a single assumption and a destructive desire born of grief.

As Halt had gone to jump over the railing of the ship, he had outlined himself clearly against the sky and had made himself a target to Erak and his crew. His element of surprise was gone and there was nowhere for him to retreat to, only having the tide against his back.

Moving swiftly and with a long practiced hand, Halt pulled his bowstring out of an inner pocket of his jerkin and strung his bow, being careful to stay below the skyline provided by the railing of the ship. Skandian wolfships were messy things, covered in sand, salt, mud and tar, and to protect his bowstring from the harmful grit he had left the bow sitting unstrung on the deck. Being as far from the plains of Uthal as he was Halt had thought that he was safe enough and would have enough time to prepare before his targets arrived. Only Halt's natural instincts had made him keep carting the bow with him from ship to ship. An ordinary archer would have just left it sitting on the beach.

Taking a deep breath, Halt fitted an arrow to the string and moved to the bow of the ship, thinking that the Skandians would expect him to stay where they had first spotted him. It wasn't much of an advantage, but at this point, he would take what he could get. He listened for a moment to the movement of the crew against the rocky beach of the cove before he rapidly stood and fired at the closest Skandian.

The reaction of the crew was almost instantaneous. As soon as they saw the bow, the men dove for the sparse cover that littered the beach. Their movement was still too late for the man that Halt had targeted though, and he fell to the ground with a black shafted arrow buried in his chest.

Noticing their practiced movements, Halt released a torrent of well chosen swear words even as he loosed a wave of arrows. They were obviously experienced in fighting against archers and while Halt had the high ground, he was outnumbered thirty-to-one. He was also swaying slightly from the movement of the boat. It wouldn't put off his aim overly much but it would be annoying. _If anything can go wrong, it will._ Halt remembered the old proverb with a heavy heart; it was one that he had repeated often to Will, and he realized that he had forgotten it in his haste to get revenge on the Skandians.

As he remembered the smiling face of his apprentice, Halt sighted on the closest Skandian, drew, and released the arrow faster than the eye could follow. As the man fell to the ground with the arrow in his leg Halt nocked another arrow and waited for the next man to get into range. He had purposefully hit the Skandian in the leg. Halt knew that another man would try to run out and pull the injured man to safety and when he did, he would find himself hit as well.

Halt saw movement out of the corner of his eye. One of the Skandians closest to the water was running from cover to cover off to his right, slowly making his way towards his position at the bow of the ship. Halt continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye as he kept his main focus on the Skandians directly in front of him. The lone Skandian was only armed with a battleaxe, and while the man could throw it, he had quite a way to come before he got close enough to be any danger to Halt.

Suddenly, in response to an unseen signal some Skandians surged forward from various directions heading towards the hurt man Halt was using as bait. At the same time, the rest of the men ran straight for his position in an obvious attempt to distract him. What the Skandians hadn't counted on though was Halt's extraordinary speed. He sent three deadly arrows towards the rescue party in the space of a few seconds before turning his attention to the yelling men running toward his position.

Despite his methodical shooting, Halt felt an increasing sense of panic as his only escape route was cut off by the approaching attackers. With a flash of guilt for failing in his attempt to avenge Will, Halt turned and vaulted over the right side of the ship, landing thigh deep in water. With only a glance at the attacking Skandians, he let lose a burst of speed and sprinted from the salty water and up the beach.

It was only when Halt saw a flicker of movement to his right that he realized his mistake. He dropped to the ground just as a battleaxe swung through the space he had occupied just a moment before; he had forgotten about the lone Skandian.

Halt used the momentum of his sudden drop to roll into a kneeling stance, one foot to the ground for balance, and swung his longbow like a quarterstaff at his attacker. The trusty bow connected solidly with the man's lower ribs, before shattering with a loud crack.

As the sea pirate was knocked back, Halt quickly jumped to his feet, drew his saxe and throwing knife, and moved into a fighting stance. With a grim smile, the Ranger faced his opponent; if he was going to die here, he was going to make sure that he took as many of the Skandians with him as possible.

* * *

To the approaching Erak, the scene was eerily reminiscent of a few days earlier with the young apprentice. The man was armed only with a pair of small knives, and the weapons would be next to useless against Svengal's battleaxe. The Jarl quickly surveyed the scene on the beach behind him before gesturing to his men to head towards _Wolfwind. _

By a stroke of bad luck _Wolfwind_ was one of the few ships that Halt had left so far untouched. Erak shouted to the men to begin boarding the ship and to ready her to cast off.

Suddenly, the Ranger froze from where he had been circling and dodging his second in command, and Erak, acting on instinct, threw himself to the ground. He couldn't have said why he had done it, but the movement had almost certainly saved his life. Erak heard the saxe as it hissed dangerously past his left ear and he felt something sharp collide with his left upper arm. The smaller throwing knife had caught Erak as he had dropped and had become deeply lodged in his bicep. He gave a grunt of pain as Svengal swung his battleaxe at his now unarmed opponent with a roar of rage for his injured Jarl.

The Ranger was too quick though; the light-footed man was already fleeing into the shelter of the fens.

Standing up, Erak called to his men. "He's gone. He won't come back. He has no more weapons. Don't bother chasing him; I won't have my men become assassins of an unarmed man. Get everyone to the ship and cast off. We're getting out of this damned country.

The Jarl watched with hardened eyes as his men carried their injured crewmates onto _Wolfwind. _He didn't know who the man was or why he had been waiting at the cove but he had recognized that he had been a Ranger. Erak suspected that he had been there because of the boy, Will.

It did not take long to get all the men onboard _Wolfwind _and to cast off. As the wolfship slowly drifted away from the shore, Erak pushed off the man who was trying to tend to the wound in his arm and turned back to face the beach. He saw a ghostly figure in a grey and green cloak standing on the sand at the edge of the fens and shivered. He didn't know what the Ranger wanted, but he knew that he would not rest until he got it.

* * *

As he had been facing off with the large Skandian, Halt had heard another Skandian that was yelling orders behind him. Evanlyn had told him that the man that had murdered his apprentice had been the Jarl, Erak, so Halt presumed that the man shouting was the man he wanted; in a split second decision, he spun and threw both of his knives towards the large Jarl.

It was a calculated decision; turning his back on the man he was currently fighting and throwing away his only weapons would probably mean that he would die on that beach, but Halt wasn't going to run while the man who had murdered his apprentice still lived.

As soon as the weapons had left his hands, the grim Ranger had turned and sprinted towards the shadows of the trees. It wasn't until he had reached cover and chanced looking behind him that Halt discover that he had missed. The Jarl was on board the ship and the crew was casting off. It was too late.

Halt stood silently staring into the horizon until long after the wolfship had sailed out of sight and the sun had set. He made no move to wipe away the salty tears that tracked down his face. He had failed Will. The Skandian had gotten away with no more than a slight wound. As his grief slowly subsided, Halt picked his saxe up off the sand and walked slowly back into the fens. It would be dangerous attempting to maneuver through the swamp in the dark, but he didn't want to stay on the beach for even a minute longer. He was needed back at the plains, but as soon as he could, he would leave for Skandia. This wasn't over yet.

* * *

**A/N**

**Urgh, the document thingy just deleated my first A/N...**

**I hope that you like this chapter, and is was one of my favourites and was so much fun to write! Sorry for the break in updates, Real life got in the way, but I'm back now! **

**Please review.**

**Ali**


	9. Chapter 9:  Aftermath and Beginnings

**Chapter 9 - Aftermath and ****Beginnings **

The day after the battle was eerily bleak and crows and other scavengers circled slowly over the dead and wounded.

The fighting was finally over. It had taken a long time and many lives for Duncan's army to subdue the remaining Wargals. As Duncan walked through the battlefield, he stopped frequently to give aid to the wounded and help cover and remove the bodies of the dead. He was weary and aching and had his own small collection of cuts and bruises, but he knew that he couldn't rest. Many good men had died here today and, as King, Duncan felt that his men needed to see him doing his part to help, that he valued every single life that has been lost.

"What on earth did you think that you were doing, Horace? You're just an apprentice! You should have stayed with Reece! The poor man's been going frantic looking for you. He would have blamed himself if you had died, you foolish boy! Did you even think of that?"

Duncan recognized the sharp, carrying, voice instantly, and he immediately began to scan the surrounding area to locate the speaker, Sir Rodney of Redmont. Making a split second decision, Duncan decided to see what had got his old friend so riled up. As he got closer, Duncan realized that the Battlemaster had been rebuking a boy who looked no older than sixteen.

The King watched the confrontation for a short moment before deciding to interfere when Rodney grabbed the young apprentice by the neck of his chain mail and began shaking the boy. Duncan knew that Rodney almost never manhandled the boys under his charge, so for him to do so now the man must be extremely aggravated. "What's going on here?"

Rodney jerked, suddenly realizing that they had a spectator, and released Horace, giving him a harsh shove as he turned to face the King. The apprentice shot an angry look at the Battlemaster before turning and acknowledging Duncan.

Duncan was surprised to recognize a flash of bitterness in the eyes of the boy when he noticed the Royal-Purple Golden Eagle crest on his jerkin that marked him as King.

Sending a quick nod of greeting towards King Duncan, Rodney placed a hand on Horace's shoulder, unsure whether the gesture was to reassure the boy, or to calm himself after his outburst at Horace's recent bout of recklessness. The Battlemaster took in Duncan's battle weary, exhausted appearance and bloody armor with a glance before introducing the apprentice beside him. "This is Horace Altman, my Lord. He's a first year apprentice from Redmount."

Giving Horace a small nudge, he tried to get the boy to bow, but Horace stubbornly refused, causing the old Battlemaster to frown. Normally Horace was a stickler for protocol but Rodney just supposed that the young man was just still shaken from the battle. Wars were never the glorious places depicted in bard's tales and children's stories, and often apprentices found the stark reality of the 'kill or be killed' mentality startling.

Duncan had noticed that the apprentice had refused to bow, but he had no patience to force the niceties of etiquette on a good day, let alone when he was exhausted bone tired, so he ignored the Apprentice's lack of he rubbed his eyes wearily, it occurred to him that it was probably his duty to say something reassuring to the boy. It was, after all, due to Duncan's decisions that Horace had been part of the battle in the first place.

Normally, first year apprentices wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near a war, but Duncan had known that this would be a close fight and that a few extra trained men could very well mean the difference between victory and defeat. Against his better judgment, he had ordered instructors such as Rodney to allow all their trainees to fight.

After taking a moment to think, Duncan addressed the young apprentice. "I know that this must have been a horrible experience for you, Horace, and I will understand if you want to cease your apprenticeship, but just remember that things will start to look up now. The war is over and with any luck Morgarath has been beaten for good. Soon life will go back to normal and you will be back with your family and friends in no time."

Duncan had expected his words to have a reassuring effect on Horace. He expected him to smile and nod and say, "I guess you're right, sir." What he did not expect was for Horace to react as strongly as he did.

The boy flinched violently, before looking Duncan straight in the eyes, his whole body tense. "I suppose that it's easy for you to say that everything is going to be alright, sir, your daughter is still alive; my best friend isn't." The venomous words left Horace's mouth in an angry rush, and before he could stop and think he spat at the King's feet before turning and running away, distraught.

Duncan was shocked. Despite his exhaustion, he sluggishly tried to understand why Horace seemed to blame him for his friend's death. He silenced Rodney's frantic apologies for Horace's actions with a quick wave of the hand and asked him what the young apprentice had meant by his best friend being dead; he desperately hoped that none of the apprentices had been killed in the skirmishes, but he knew that was unrealistic.

Rodney looked uncomfortable for a moment before he took a deep breath and spoke, "He was friends with Halt's apprentice, sir. Will. They grew up together in the Ward."

Neither man spoke as the King contemplated what he had just been told. Not only was the boy an orphan, but his best friend had just died defending Duncan's daughter. No wonder the boy was bitter. Duncan felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as he thought about the young apprentice Ranger.

As he stood there on the empty battlefield, Duncan made a promise to himself. He would make sure that Will was honored for his bravery and sacrifice, and that he would never be forgotten. Soon, everyone in the kingdom would know his name. Will Braveheart; a brave and honorable name for a boy that had grown up with nothing. Duncan knew it wouldn't be enough, not to Halt and Horace, who had known the boy the best, but it was all he had to offer. He couldn't bring the boy back from the dead, after all.

* * *

Crowley slowly trotted his horse, Cropper, towards the pass. He was leading a group of four senior Rangers in a search for Morgarath. The Lord of Rain and Night had been spotted by a number of Araluans fleeing the battlefield on his notable white charger when the cavalry had attacked, but there was always the chance that he had been killed before he had managed to make it to the pass.

They had been searching the bodies for Morgarath and his senior officers for hours, heedless of the growing darkness, and they were almost ready to drop. Even though the battle itself was over, each member of the corps still had a lot of work to do before they could begin to rest. They would be needed to organize what was left of the troops and to track down any of Morgarath's band that might still be alive. It would be messy, tiring work but it had to be done, and Crowley didn't trust many people outside of his corps to do things right.

Sighing, he raised his right hand above his head and slowly closed it into a fist, giving the order to fall in. They had been riding spread out in a triangle shape which gave them the advantage if they happened to be attacked. They weren't so far from each other that they couldn't help their comrades if they needed it, but they weren't too close as to be caught off guard and surrounded. As his fellow Rangers began to gather around him, Crowley turned to survey the area in front of them.

The darkness was oppressive, and the sky overcast, leaving no moon to guide them; the ghostly shapes of corpses and cries of wounded men echoed through the night. Despite the poor visibility, they would have been hard pressed to miss the pass into the Mountains of Rain and Night. The cliffs were huge and imposing and the pass was the only gap in them for miles. It should have been reassuring to stand at the entrance to the pass and know that the cliffs weren't impenetrable, but it wasn't. The cliffs on either side looked like the mouth of a giant beast that was getting ready to swallow them whole. There were fresh tracks on the ground between their resting place and the entrance to the pass; Crowley dismounted to get a closer look at them.

"It's hard to tell if Morgarath managed to escape or not. There are so many footprints here all layered on top of each other that it is almost impossible to tell who passed here or when. We will need to move into the pass and just hope that we get lucky and find a distinctive hoof print going in the right direction," Crowley said calmly, and, seeing a nod of understanding from each of the other four, he mounted Cropper and rode into the pass.

It was almost midnight by the time they found what they were looking for. It was Daryl of Lansdale fief who found the prints and the huge lump of horse dung, and called the others over. Most of the trail through the pass was just a mess of mud and dirt, which blurred all the tracks of individuals until they were indistinguishable, even for a Ranger, but Daryl, who had been riding ahead, had reached a small clearing of packed earth, where the tracks had set almost perfectly in the ground.

Daryl quickly studied some of the tracks, slightly off to the side of the main path. "There are more of the wagon tracks here, Crowley. Whoever was travelling with it must have passed here just over a week ago. It looks like they stopped here for a while, before moving on to Morgarath's castle."

"I don't think the wagon or whatever they were carrying is worth worrying about," said Crowley. "Whatever it was is long gone, and had no part in the battle. We need to find out if Morgarath is indeed heading back to the Mountains of Rain and Night."

After giving his commander a quick nod of acknowledgement, Daryl returned to surveying the main path with the other Rangers.

"Crowley, I've got something here," Alun, Ranger of Whitby Fief, called from the far end of the path. Immediately, the four other Rangers gathered together around the distinctive horse tracks.

After a quick study, they mutually agreed that the tracks were indeed those from Morgarath and his party. The white charger that Morgarath rode was distinctive, not only because of its colour, but because of its size. The horse, an Arridi crossbreed, had a noticeably different gait and hoof-prints than the other horses commonly found in Araluen. For the trained eye of the Rangers, it was highly unlikely that the prints belonged to another horse. It looked as if Morgarath had indeed escaped and was making his way to the mountains.

"What do we do now?" Daryl asked, voicing the question that had been each been thinking. They were all exhausted and wanted to head back at the plains for a well-deserved rest, and besides, now that they knew where Morgarath was, he was no longer an imminent threat.

Crowley thought for a moment, looking around at his weary comrades. "We leave. We turn around and go home. It will be near impossible to continue to track him in the dark like this and there is just no point. We know where he is going, and we can go after him any time we like. Remember, he will be exhausted as well. Nearly all of his men were killed on the plains, so he has no supporters; he won't be launching another attack anytime soon."

Even though they didn't like the thought of turning around and giving up, each of the Rangers knew that what Crowley was saying was sensible, and as one they got back into their saddles and rode away back towards the plains. They didn't know when they would go after Morgarath again but for now they would just watch and wait. There were more pressing matters to attend to. There were bodies to clear, memorials to hold, and criminals to bring to justice.

* * *

Halt was dead on his feet by the time he made it out of the fens and emerged into the early light of dawn. He was covered in minor bruises and scratches from the battle in the fens and his desperate fight at the cove. He was limping slightly but couldn't remember why. He supposed that he must have tripped on his reckless trip in the dark through the Fens, but the time between leaving the beach and arriving back at the small hill above the battlefield was just a grief induced haze.

The old Ranger knew that he would be in for a grilling from Crowley for going after Erak and his crew, but for now he didn't care. He just wanted a plate of food, a nice warm bed and a great, big, steaming pot of coffee.

* * *

Will gasped as Morgarath's castle came into view. It was an ugly looking thing, made from unevenly cut black stone. The black castle seemed to radiate a malevolent air which choked the life out of the surroundings, and Will couldn't help the shiver that run down his spine as they rode closer, the forest around them thinning the closer that they got to the castle.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that he would be thrown into a dungeon cell and locked up until Morgarath arrived, and he really didn't want to think about what would happen to him then. Possibly the only chance that he would have to escape would be when General Owen and his men took him from the cart to his cell, and Will had no intention of wasting the opportunity.

He had learnt a lot about Owen and his men on the journey here, and he was surprised to find that he rather liked Owen. He was a thief and doubtless a murderer too, but he had been kind to Will. He always made sure that he had good food and water, and he had checked the wound in Will's shoulder daily. He wasn't gentle, but he wasn't purposefully rough and he spoke to Will sometimes too.

The old General had told him how one night he had been drunk and had gotten into a fight with his senior officer, which got him kicked out of his battalion. "I gave years of my life to the service of the kingdom, boy, and how do they repay me? They throw me out on my ass is how. I had no choice but come to Morgarath, boy, so don't you look at me like that. No one would hire me and I needed work. Who wants a disgraced soldier?

"Morgarath might be a brute, but he gave me a job, so I have no right to complain. You're too young; you wouldn't have known what he was like before the first war. He was charismatic, and promised his men all kinds of riches and glory. Araluen was in chaos, and people were grabbing power all over the place. Morgarath was just the only one that was ambitious enough to reach for total control.

"Morgarath's mad, no doubt about that, but he's smart too. Don't underestimate him, don't piss him off, and whatever happens, be respectful, boy. That's the only bit of advice I can give you. I don't know what you did to get on his bad side in the first place, but I tell you, I wouldn't trade places with you for all the gold in the world."

Will had tried not to let Owen's words scare him, but it was useless. He couldn't contain his trembles as the cart left the last fleeting cover of the trees, and passes into a courtyard paved with the same dark stone that the castle was carved out of. Will sent a last fleeting glance at the trees behind him as the cart jerked to a stop in front of the massive wooden doors, cast into ominous shadows from the seemingly lifeless castle.

He managed to tear his eyes from the frightful sight just in time to see one of Owen's men jumped into the back of the wagon. He anxiously flicked his gaze between the man and the surrounding courtyard. Will jumped in fright as the man was tossed a key by one of his comrades before he used it to unlock the shackles from around Will's ankles. Will sucked in all of his courage, and tried to remember all of Halt's training; this was likely to be his only chance and he wasn't going to muck it up.

Will made his move the instant that his feet were free, his hands having been left unbound as Owen hadn't wanted to aggravate his shoulder wound. He rose to his feet and sharply punched the man in the face, as hard as he could, hearing a very satisfying '_crack'_ as it connected.

With nimble hands, Will snatched the heavy dagger from the man's belt and jumped from the cart. His eyes focused on the direction that they had come from, and Will started to sprint, sacrificing stealth for speed and hoping that his captors would be too stunned to immediately pursue him.

Unfortunately, Owen had expected Will to try and run, and he and his men reacted the same instant that Will did. "Catch him! Do not let him escape!"

Hearing Owen's shout, Will desperately tried to run faster, ignoring the spinning in his head and wishing he was in the cover of the trees. Suddenly, he felt a hand close onto the back of his shirt, and he was jerked backwards as he heard a tearing sound from the fabric. Will kept his footing through sheer desperation, and he pulled frantically at the hand restraining him, heedless of the growing throbbing in his shoulder. Footsteps and yelling were ringing through the courtyard now, and even as the young apprentice felt his shirt rip free from the man holding him, the rest of Owen's men converged on him.

The young apprentice sent a fleeting glance toward the safety of the trees and the opening of the path he could see there, before deftly flipping the dagger in his hand into a fighting grip and throwing himself at one of the men blocking his path. He had no choice; he couldn't allow them to recapture him. Will plunged the deadly dagger deep into the man's neck, severing his artery.

As he pulled the dagger back from the man's neck, he felt the spray of blood hit his face and torso, and he forced himself not to be distracted by the warm sticky feeling. He could break down later, but now was not the time for any regret.

The knife once more in hand, Will continued his sprint for the comforting cover of the trees, breathing hard, and not daring to look behind him, for fear of slowing down.

There were feet thundering all around him, and his heart was in his throat, and he was _almost there, _when, all of a sudden, a giant weight collided with his back, forcing him to the ground, losing his grip on the knife in the fall. Owen had tackled him, and even as Will tried to push the heavy man off of him he knew that it was pointless. He was still weak from the shoulder wound, and Owen was too strong.

When a wild punch from the young apprentice connected with Owen's head, the man growled and pinned Will's hands beneath his. General Owen gripped Will's arm tightly, but not too roughly, and pulled him to his feet, snarling at the gathered men, "Take him to the cells. Make sure that he is chained up, and keep a guard outside his cell at all times."

Silently, Owen watched as two of his men grabbed Will from him and dragged him away. Despite his harsh treatment of the boy, he hoped that they wouldn't cause him any undue harm. The boy would have a hard enough time when Morgarath arrived.

* * *

**A/N**

**TaDa! A chapter! It's been nearly 8 months, I think, but I'm too ashamed to check for sure. I'm back now, that's what matters, and i haven't been totally inactive in my absence. I have written like 60 pages handritten of bullet pointed notes to start around 20 stories. Some are nearly completely planned, and others have just a large chunk done, and others are just one line ideas that I didn't want to forget. Now I just have to find time to write them all. Don't wory, The Black Castle (both versions) will always come first, and hopefully by the end of the year it will be completed. Wow. Wouldn't that be something?**

**A lot has happened in the past ages for me in RL, and I've finished high school, with good marks too. I'm now in JAPAN, somewhere I've always wanted to go, for a year on a student exchange. Unfortunately, that means high school, again, but that doen't really matter, because nothing bad can happen if I fail, and I'm in JAPAN! I'm all buzzed, can you tell? XD**

**I hope this chapter meets expectations and despite all the perspective changes is alright to follow. It may be a bit disjointed in places, but feel free to let me know if something isn't quite right so I can fix it. It may take me a bit to get properly back into the 'flow' of the story. I hope to hear from you guys, either by reviews or I'm always up for a random chat via PM. :) Let me know what you think of the story.**

**Ali Ranger51**

**By the way, am I the only one that cried in The Lost Stories in the chapter about Tug?**


	10. Chapter 10: Arrivals and Departures

**Chapter 10: Arrivals and Departures**

_Two weeks later_

It was late afternoon when Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain, finally returned to his black castle hidden deep in the mountains. His horse was nearly dead, and he himself was exhausted. Shouting roughly for his men to assemble in the throne room, he dismounted and walked slowly towards the main hall. Morgarath was ready to drop, but he knew that he could not show weakness in front of his men. They were all criminals and outlaws, and they would be quick to betray him if they thought that he was at anything less than full strength, especially considering the outcome of the recent battle at the plains.

The throne room within the black castle was a crude imitation of the one in Castle Araluen, and a heavy obsidian throne stood imposingly on a raised dais at the back. As Morgarath positioned himself on the throne, the room seemed to fill with a dark energy and more than one of the men present shifted nervously under the powerful gaze of their Lord.

"General Owen, step forward," Morgarath commanded, and Owen hurried to kneel before the dais. "Report." There was no need for Morgarath to elaborate. Years of service left Owen with no doubt about what he wanted.

"We arrived just over two weeks ago, my Lord. The Ranger boy is in the cells and I have had him kept under guard. It is unlikely that he will try to escape again, and the wound in his shoulder is healing well." Owen spoke calmly and kept his gaze trained at Morgarath's feet. The dark Lord hated it when his men showed disrespect and Owen could tell that Morgarath was in a bad mood. He had returned alone and a lot earlier than expected; Owen presumed that the battle had not gone well.

There was a dark flash in Morgarath's eye and, too late, Owen realized that he had made a serious mistake. "What do you mean _'escape again'_, General?" Morgarath said, his tone icy.

Quickly, Owen summarized Will's escape attempt, careful not to mention the name of the man that had unlocked his shackles. He knew that Morgarath would want to punish him for allowing the boy to get free in the first place, and if Owen revealed the man's name then none of the other men would trust him anymore.

"I am glad that he did not manage to get away, General. Things would have been much worse for you if he had. However, as it is, I find that I must punish you for the fact that he was able to escape at all." Owen continued to look at the ground and tried not to let Morgarath see that he was shaking. "Guards! Take this man to the post. He is to be given twenty lashes for his disobedience. Let this be an example to all of you, I will not tolerate failure, and anyone slacking in their duties will be severely punished."

As the Lord of Rain and Night watched Owen being dragged away, he did nothing to hide the smile on his face. He knew that he was being overly harsh on the old general, but Morgarath ruled by fear and in light of his recent defeat he felt that he needed to remind his people exactly why they should obey him.

"Bring me the Ranger." Morgarath thought that it was about time that he became properly aquatinted with the young apprentice. They boy was going to be here for a long time, after all.

* * *

Halt swore loudly and slammed the door of his small cabin with a loud _bang_. He had been spending the last couple weeks hunting down various criminals and outlaws all over Redmount and he was thoroughly sick of it. Dozens of would be bandits had sprung up all over the county to try and take advantage of the chaos left behind by the battle at the Plains of Uthal.

After Halt had arrived back at the battlefield, exhausted and grief stricken, he had asked Crowley for a leave of absence to go to Skandia.

The Ranger Commandant was one of Halt's oldest friends and Crowley had known how much it would hurt Halt to refuse him. He had wanted desperately to allow Halt to go and find Erak and his crew, but he had known that it would be impossible. Duty came first, that was the oath that all Rangers took when they graduated, and Crowley knew that his friend would be needed in Redmount. Two Rangers had been severely injured in the battle, and more than a dozen had been otherwise wounded; he simply didn't have the men he needed to keep the country in order for long enough to allow Halt to go off to Skandia. Crowley had seen the hurt and betrayal in Halt's eyes as he had refused him but there was nothing he could do.

Crowley just hoped that Halt wouldn't do anything stupid.

As he sat at the small wooden table drinking a steaming cup of coffee, Halt thought about what to do. Every bandit he chased, every pickpocket or thief he caught, and every day that passed took the Skandians further and further out of his reach. He wanted to go to Skandia and tear the man apart, limb by limb, to avenge his apprentice but he knew that it wouldn't be possible. He was a Ranger and because of that he was needed in Araluen. It was his duty.

Unconsciously, Halt fingered the small silver Oakleaf amulet that hung around his neck. It was the sign of the Corps, and every Ranger, active, retired, or apprentice in their second year or above received an amulet, signifying their status. Dimly, Halt remembered giving Will his bronze amulet, the sign of an apprentice. As he pictured the smiling face of his young apprentice, Halt slowly lifted the chain over his head. _It's funny,_ Halt thought, _how such a little thing can mean so much. _

Standing abruptly, Halt made his decision. Gently he let the amulet and its chain fall through his calloused fingers and he watched as it coiled neatly onto the table next to the now empty mug of coffee. Then, without a backwards glance, he grabbed his traveling pack, walked out of the cabin, and went to saddle Abelard and Tug.

* * *

Will was hungry. The shackles were back around his ankles and he had been chained up again, this time to a wall. At first Will had thought that he would be able to chip away at the stone and pull the hook free, but he had quickly realized that it would be impossible. He didn't even have anything to chip at the wall with, and it was some sort of solid dark stone that Will had never seen before.

Even if, by some miracle, he managed to pull the hook free from the wall, he still wouldn't be able to get out of the cell. From the sound of it, there was always a guard outside the door and he was pretty sure that the door was locked. It would be rather stupid if it wasn't.

He wasn't sure how long he had been in the cells for, but he guessed that it was about two weeks, perhaps longer. There was no source of light to tell day from night, but Will thought that he had gotten good at judging the time by listening to the guards. When they were active and loud, Will guessed that it was sometime during the day. If they started to snore, Will supposed that meant that it was night, but he couldn't be too sure; he had caught some of the Redmont dayshift guards sleeping on occasion while wandering around the castle.

Suddenly, there was a shuffling sound that Will supposed was the guard standing up, and he tensed as he heard footsteps echoing down the passage outside of his cell. Something was about to happen. Unless he was mistaken-and he didn't think he was, it was still too early for someone to be bringing him his next meal.

As Will was pondering exactly why there now was an extra guard standing outside his cell, there was a rattling of keys and a scrape of wood on stone as the door was opened. He blinked as light flooded the cell, but before his vision could adjust, someone grabbed him roughly by the shirt and pulled him to his feet. As the man bent down to unclip the chain from the wall, Will noticed that there were three more men standing at the door, cutting off his escape so he had no choice but to do what they wanted.

Once he was freed from the wall, the man grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him out the door. "You're coming with me. Lord Morgarath wants to see you." Will couldn't suppress the shiver of fear those words triggered.

As Will walked, the length of chain that had been attached to the wall now dragged on the ground, and Will could feel the weight pulling on the shackle on his right foot. Will was lead through the maze of corridors and doorways until they reached what he presumed must be Morgarath's throne room.

The room held nearly 50 men and women, and none of them looked very friendly. Some even had the same smug grin as the man that had lead him here. Will was marched up to the dais until he was standing directly in front of Morgarath. Will looked directly into the self-titled Lord's cold eyes, refusing to either look down or kneel. It was a small defiance, really, but it was all he could do and Will couldn't keep a small grin from showing on his face when he heard Morgarath's low growl of rage.

Suddenly, something hit him in the back with what felt like the force of a battering ram, and Will was knocked heavily onto the cold stone.

"Rise, Ranger," Morgarath said, and Will could tell that he was smirking.

"Apprentice." Will had risen to his feet, and was again looking directly into the eyes of his captor. "I'm an apprentice."

"I am aware of that, boy," Morgarath said arrogantly, smirking. "If you had been a real Ranger, you would have been harder to catch."

Now it was Will's turn to smirk. He knew that he shouldn't be trying to aggravate Morgarath, but he couldn't keep himself from responding. "I might just be an apprentice, but I still managed to foil your plans just as well as any graduate Ranger, don't you think? I mean, that bridge burnt wonderfully, all that tar and wood…" Will's mocking, happy voice trailed off as he watched Morgarath pick up a pair of chain mail backed gloves and slowly pull them on.

"You're a cocky one, aren't you?" Will wisely chose to remain silent that time. "I think that I will rather enjoy teaching you manners, don't you?" Morgarath was smiling again, slowly curling his hands in and out of fists, being very obvious as he did so.

The motion brought back memories of when he had got attacked by the three battleschool apprentices, but there was no Horace and Halt to save him this time, and this enemy was much more dangerous.

Suddenly, Morgarath moved. Will flinched backwards as the first blow struck his jaw, the sound of metal striking flesh resounding through the large stone room. Will couldn't keep from crying out in pain each time the gloves struck. As he was gasping for breath from a blow to the stomach, blood trickling down his face, he became aware that someone was holding him up.

Morgarath struck Will again and again, stopping only when he was panting for breath and Will was slumped unconscious in the grasp of the man that had been propping him up for Morgarath's punches.

Slowly, Morgarath turned and surveyed the watching men and women, noticing that Owen was standing and watching, a blank expression on his face. He turned back and addressed the man still holding Will up. "Take this piece of filth back to his cell."

Footsteps echoed eerily off the black stone walls as Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain, strode confidently from the room, stripping off his gloves as he went.

* * *

"Ranger Halt!"

Halt stepped backwards into the shadows of the stable, his right hand dropping instinctively towards his saxe knife, his left pulling his cowl over his face. There shouldn't be anyone at his cabin, as he had made it clear to Baron Arald that he needed a few days to himself, to 'rest'. There most certainly shouldn't be a young man guiding a gigantic battle horse into the clearing.

Slowly, Halt relaxed as he saw who it was and, stepping out of the shadows, he addressed the young battleschool apprentice. "What do you want?" Halt said gruffly, not bothering to conceal his impatience.

Horace, having just dismounted Kicker, jumped and quickly spun around, his hand going to the hilt of the broadsword that was strapped at the ready around his waist. He had thought that Halt was in the cabin; he definitely hadn't been expecting the Ranger to appear, as if by magic, from the shadows behind him. Although, now that he thought about it, he probably should have.

"I'm coming with you," Horace said. His voice gave no hint of any unease and the young battleschool apprentice glared at Halt, as if daring him to argue.

"Coming with me where, Horace? I'm not going anywhere," Halt stated, calmly.

Horace felt a brief twinge of anger as he looked at the bearded Ranger and saw, clear as day, the two Ranger horses saddled and loaded with travelling gear behind him. "You're going to Skandia after those pirates that killed Will, and I'm coming with you. He was my best friend." The last part was spoken so softly that Halt almost didn't hear it.

Halt studied the young man standing in front of him and silently pondered what to do. The boy was determined, he had proven that just by turning up, and he was brave as well. He was also a natural with a sword and Halt figured that it would come in handy having Horace around in a fight. Nodding to himself, Halt made his decision. "I take it that you are all packed and ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," Horace nodded, barely believing what he was hearing. He had never thought that Halt would actually take him!

"Then mount up, and let's go." Not waiting to see if Horace was following, Halt swung up into Abelard's saddle and left the clearing at a trot. He smiled grimly to himself as he heard the young apprentice scramble to mount his massive battlehorse, Kicker, and follow him.

* * *

**A/N**

**What do you think? Was Will out of character? I thought so a bit, but he wouldn't behave and kept saying infuriating things to Morgarth, no matter how I tried to re write it, so I made it stay. **

**The title makes me think of airports, but I couldn't think of anything better. I'm horrid at titles, but I though just calling the chapters by the numbers was boring. :)**

**Thanks to my beta, Eques Pirate. **

**Ali Ranger51**


	11. Chapter 11: Visits

**Chapter 11: Visits**

Will groaned as he regained consciousness. Every part of him hurt, not the least of which was his head, and he shook slightly as he remembered the way that Morgarath had attacked him. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and he panicked for a moment when all he could see was darkness before common sense took hold and he realized that he must be back in his cell.

Very cautiously, Will sat up, trying to move as little as possible so that he didn't hit any of his new bruises. He was feeling very tender and to make matters worse the wound in his shoulder was throbbing slightly. Propping his back up against the cold stone walls, Will cautiously ran his hands over the parts of him that ached the worst, trying to access the damage. There were small cuts on his skin from the chain mail on Morgarath's gloves, his bottom lip was swollen to nearly twice its normal size, and there was a nasty cut on it from where he must have bitten it. Experimentally, Will poked the cut with a finger, and winced at the sudden spike of pain.

His pained lip now throbbing in time with his heartbeat, Will admitted that perhaps poking the injury hadn't been the smartest idea, but he hadn't been able to resist; the sheer size his lip had swollen to was fascinating. He'd had swollen lips before, of course, but never had they felt as if there was a lump the size of a walnut wobbling near his chin.

For the first time since he was captured, Will felt slightly grateful for the lack of light in his cell, as it prevented him from seeing exactly how bad he looked. He was sure to panic if he could see the mass of bruises that were sure to cover his skin, but right now he was feeling rather pleasantly out of it. He supposed that Morgarath must have given him some rather strong blows to the head.

Thinking through the fuzz in his head, Will felt the floor around him, frantically hoping that he had been left food, or even a drink of water. Giving a small groan of despair when he couldn't find anything, Will slumped against the wall, and felt his elbow connect with something hard and made of metal. After giving a pained yelp of shock, he ran his hands over the offending piece of metal and discovered that it was the stupid metal ring his leg was chained to. Will swore softly under his breath, and shuffled to the side as far as he could from the ring, not wanting to risk banging into it again; he didn't need any more bruises, after all.

As he rested his pounding head back against the cool stone wall, Will felt his emotions seesaw again, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that his head had probably taken a harder hit than he'd originally thought. Then, he felt helplessness overtake him.

Morgarath could do anything that he wanted to him and there would be no way that he could stop him. Every part of him ached, and he was physically exhausted. He had been given very little food and although there was very little to do in the small cell except for sleep, Will hadn't been able to rest. He was plagued by nightmares every time he closed his eyes.

He wished that he knew what had happened to Evanlyn and the outcome of the battle of the plains. Surely if Morgarath was back in the Mountains of Night and Rain, it meant that the battle was over, didn't it? Will hoped desperately that Morgarath had lost, and that no one that he knew was injured, or, God forbid, killed.

* * *

Crowley trotted his horse, Cropper, towards the small cabin that he knew resided in the trees. He had spent the past couple of weeks roaming the country, trying to regain order and helping to track down various criminals in various fiefs. He was currently in Redmount and on his way to see Halt. He felt guilty about not allowing his old friend to go and chase down the bastards that had killed his apprentice but deep down he knew that refusing Halt's request was the only reasonable thing he could do. Halt was needed here, in Araluen. He just hoped that Halt was able to understand that too.

As Halt's small cottage came into view, Crowley's well-honed instincts flared. Something was wrong and it didn't take much thought for Crowley to recognize what was missing. There was no whinny of greeting from Abelard, Halt's horse, and no smoke emerging from the chimney. Both could undoubtedly only mean one thing; Halt wasn't at the cabin.

He had just been to see Arald and the Baron had told him that Halt was home, having just gotten back the day before from chasing down one of the more notorious criminals that had made their way to Redmount. So if Halt wasn't here, where was he?

Frowning, Crowley dismounted and looked warily around the small clearing, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. When his keen eyes were unable to spot anything to be worried about, he stepped onto the porch and pushed open the cabin door, saxe in hand.

Nothing attacked him as he pushed open the door, but instead of putting his worries to rest, this just agitated him even more. Everything felt too peaceful. Despite himself, Crowley found himself hoping that the inside of the cabin showed signs of a fight that meant Halt hadn't left voluntarily. Halt couldn't have just walked out. He wouldn't have. _Would he?_

As his eyes rested on the empty coffee cup on the table, his eyes narrowed, becoming dangerously thin. Halt never left dirty dishes lying around. Instinctively, he knew that he wasn't going to like what he saw next. He was right. He didn't.

Halt's small silver Oakleaf amulet was sitting on the table next to the coffee cup, and Crowley drove the tip of his knife into the table with a thud, swearing as he did so. _He had_. Halt had left, gone to chase Skandians.

Even as he gathered the small amulet up into his hands, Crowley tried to ignore the part of him that said that he really shouldn't be surprised. Ever since Crowley had first seen Halt with Will together he had known that they shared more than just the normal bond between master and apprentice. He hadn't recognized what the bond was at the time, but as he sat now in an abandoned cabin in the woods, he couldn't believe that he had missed it.

The panic and desperation that he had seen in Halt when Will was missing, the sheer depth of the despair that Halt had shown when Will had been killed, and the sense of misery surrounding Halt when he had returned, exhausted and bleeding, to the plains of Uthal suddenly made a whole lot more sense. He didn't know why, or how it had come about, but Halt saw Will as his son, and as he remembered the blind trust and love in Will's face every time he saw the boy looking at Halt, he knew that the boy felt exactly the same way.

He didn't know much about Halt's life before he came to Araluen, but he did know that there wasn't anyone that the grim man called family. To finally find someone that he could feel that with, and to then have that ripped away from him in such a violent manner must have been heartbreaking. Crowley felt a fleeting moment of pity for the Skandians that had killed the apprentice, because Halt surely wasn't going to rest until all of them were dead, but then the smiling visage of Will rose before his eyes and the pity was gone. Those bastards deserved every bit of pain Halt was sure to inflict onto them before he killed them.

Clenching the silver Oakleaf tightly in his hand, Crowley rose and left the cabin, slamming the door loudly as he did so.

* * *

Sometime later, the sound of footsteps approaching his cell caused Will to freeze instantly, thoughts of Morgarath plaguing his mind, but he relaxed when he realized that the footsteps belonged to only one man. When they had taken him to the throne room before, there had been at least four men, and even though Will was in no state to resist, he doubted that Morgarath would be so careless as to only send one man to move him. Most likely, the man was here to check if he was awake yet or he was the relief for the current guard.

Will had no idea how long he had passed since the beating, but judging from the throbbing in his head and the empty feeling in his stomach, he guessed that it had been quite a while. As Will thought of food, his stomach gave a loud grumble and he quickly pressed his hands to his stomach and hunched over in a desperate attempt to silence it. He may have been weak with hunger and pain, but he was still determined not demonstrate to Morgarath or his men the extent to which his life was in their hands.

There was a dull, unmistakable click of a lock and Will looked up, startled, visibly wincing as the light from a torch invaded the previous darkness, aggravating his headache. Closing his eyes tightly and cursing Morgarath under his breath, Will vowed that he would set something on fire the first chance he got. As Will had literally sent Morgarath's plans at the bridge up in smoke, he knew instinctively that if he was able to set something else on fire it would vex Morgarath more than anything else he could possibly do. While provoking his captor might not be one of his smartest ideas, Will couldn't help but feel that a little mischief was exactly what this morbid black castle needed. The throbbing in his head seemed to agree.

Opening his eyes slowly and being careful not to look directly at the light, Will watched as a guard set a tray of food down in front of him. It took all his willpower to not start wolfing down the food immediately and to wait, silent and unmoving, for the guard to leave. He had learnt this lesson the hard way. When he had first arrived at Morgarath's castle in the Mountains of Rain and Night, they had given him very little food and when he was fed, more often than not, his food would be dropped all over the floor and trampled on by some very 'clumsy' guards. If he tried to interfere he would be beaten for 'disobedience' so Will had swiftly discovered that the wisest thing to do was to wait patiently for the guards to leave and then to eat whatever food was salvageable.

Watching the guard warily out of one eye, Will studied the food sitting in front of him longingly. It was an admittedly bland looking meal of stale, almost moldy bread, a rotting apple and a cup of water, but despite its unappetizing appeal, Will couldn't wait for the guard to leave so that he could eat it. He decided that he would drink the water first; it was too valuable to leave sitting around, and besides, Halt had told him that you could last a lot longer without food than you could without water. So far, Will's experience as a prisoner was agreeing with Halt.

As soon as the guard reached the doorway, Will grabbed at the food, knowing that the guard was too far away to stop Will from putting what little there was into the relative safety of his mouth. After he had gulped down the water, he grabbed the bread in his right hand and the apple in his left, clutching onto them as if they might disappear any second. It wasn't until he took a bite from the stale loaf and the taste filled his mouth that he regained a sense of his surroundings. The piece of bread still in his mouth, Will froze. The guard hadn't moved and was watching him from the doorway.

Frowning slightly, Will put his back against the wall and drew his knees up as tightly as he could, clutching the food to his chest. He swallowed the piece of bread in his mouth and took another bite, never removing his eyes from the guard. Despite Will's near all-consuming survival instincts screaming at him to guard the food, his brain recognized the guard. It was Owen. He was hunched over slightly, as if his back pained him, and Will wondered for a fleeting moment what had happened to the man, before recalling that Owen had watched Morgarath attack him.

Will tensed, remembering the cold, detached expression that had been on the man's face, but as he studied the old General now, he couldn't see any trace of the man he had seen standing in Morgarath's throne room; he was back to being the concerned, tough, but well-meaning guard that he had been when he brought Will to the castle. He could have sworn that he saw pity in the man's eyes.

Frowning slightly, Will wondered about the apparent changes of heart. Why did the man keep changing how he acted around him? None of the other guards had shown him any empathy and he knew that most of them enjoyed tormenting him. _So why did Owen seem to care now? _Even before his mind had finished asking the question, Will realized the answer. _It was a trick._

Will reacted the exact same instant Owen moved, diving to the left as Owen reached inside his jerkin, wanting to be as far away from the man as physically possible and knowing at the same time that any attempt to defend himself or to avoid the blows would be useless. Eyes closed tightly shut, he curled up into a ball with his hands still clutching tightly to the pitiful morsels of food, Will waited for the first blows to fall.

There was a soft thump beside him, and Will couldn't help opening his eyes to see what the sound was. He looked, disbelieving, at the second loaf of bread that lay net to him on the ground of his cell. His shocked eyes met Owen's and the man spoke. "I told you not to piss him off. You'll find that things get easier if you just play along."

Owen turned and walked out of the cell the door banging shut behind him, the lock clicking back into place as if nothing had happened.

Gently, Will picked up the bread, as if afraid that it would somehow vanish, and broke it in half, inhaling. The bread was fresh! Despite Owen's words echoing thorough his brain, Will began tearing off hunks of bread and shoving them hastily into his mouth. He would ponder the mystery that was Owen and what he had meant later, after he had eaten.

* * *

**A/N**

**Opps, I kind of forgot all about this chapter... I had it written 3 weeks ago, and forgot all about it. It had been betaed and everything. *Facepalm***

**Anyway, thanks to my beta, Eques Pirate, for helping me with this chapter, and reminding me that I hadn't uploaded it. **

**I feel this chapter is a bit of a filler, but i couldn't add anymore without doubling the length, and then you'd have to wait even longer for an update. The story should pick up after this, and I'm rather excited. **

**Ali Ranger51**


	12. Chapter 12: Fear

**Chapter 12: Fear**

It wasn't very long after he had finished the meagre meal of bread and apple when the men came for him. Will was sitting, relishing the feeling of a full belly for the first time in what felt like months, and so didn't notice the men's arrival until the door was already open. This time there was no doubt about why the guards were here; they were going to take him back to Morgarath.

He didn't bother to stand as the door was pushed open and three men filed into the small cell. One of the men quickly unlocked the shackle around his ankle while the other two pulled him roughly to his feet, aggravating his various injuries. Despite the sudden burst of pain that erupted all over his body, Will couldn't help noticing that something strange was happening. Last time the guards had just unhooked the chain connecting his shackle to the ring and used the chain to pull him along. This time they removed the chain and shackle completely. Will didn't have any more time to wonder about what this change in routine could mean however, as he was quickly pulled out of the cell and half dragged, half marched, along the maze of corridors until he was thoroughly lost.

Eventually, with Will's head pounding in time with his heartbeat from the rough walk, they stopped in front of a strangely intimidating, studded iron door. The guards all straightened, getting into some kind of formation, with the man holding Will by his (thankfully uninjured) shoulder at the front. With a gesture from the guard restraining Will, one of the other men stepped forward and knocked with a large fist on the heavy door. The sound of the fist on metal echoed loudly and intimidatingly down the surrounding corridors, and Will vaguely realised that they were deep underground. That couldn't be good. In a black, intimidating castle like Morgarath's, Will thought that only bad things such as prison cells were likely to be found underground. Given the fact that he had just been brought here _from _the prison cells, whatever was about to happen next was likely to be very, _very_ bad.

Just as he was thinking that he really didn't want to find out what was behind that dark iron door, it opened with a grating _scream_ of rusted hinges, making Will flinch violently. The fact that Morgarath was waiting in the revealed room with a sadistic grin on his face didn't help suppress his sudden desire to run in the other direction. Before Will could so much as attempt to escape from his guard and flee, the man wrenched on his shoulder and pulled him into the room, closer to Morgarath.

The iron door was shut behind him with a crash, the other two guards not following them into the room, and Will flinched again. Morgarath smirked at Will, his expression letting the young boy know that, not only had he seen his fear, but that he relished it.

As the Lord of Night and Rain slowly approached him, Will couldn't help but notice how uncomfortably warm the room was, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Morgarath to search for the source of the heat. The tall man stopped barely a foot from Will and the man who still had yet to release his grip on his shoulder, and he looked the apprentice up and down. Dazedly, Will realized that he must be looking at the various cuts and bruises that undoubtedly littered his body from his previous meeting with the man.

"What's your name, boy?" Morgarath's voice was merciless, taunting, and Will watched, silently terrified, as he pulled on the chain mail backed gloves once more. The man wasn't going to hit him again, was he? Will still ached from the last beating, and from the weight that seemed to be crushing his skull and clouding his thinking, he was most likely still concussed.

Morgarath flexed his fist in the chain mail gloves, and Will foggily realized that he had yet to answer the man's question. "I'm Will," he said, seeing no point in lying. It couldn't do him any harm to tell Morgarath that; Will was a rather unremarkable name, after all. Fighting Morgarath over something as small as a name would not only be pointless and stupid, but would also probably hurt.

Taking a risk in glancing away from Morgarath, Will took in his surroundings for the first time. All of a sudden, the blood drained from his face and Will began to tremble as he realized exactly where he was, and exactly why he was here. Despite never having seen a similar room, Will wasn't stupid, and was most definitely able to recognise a torture chamber when he saw one. Alongside one wall was a large fireplace, reminiscent of the blacksmith's forge back in Redmont, and complete with the random, indistinguishable bits of metal poking out of the flames. This was the source of the heat he felt. There were shackles and chains lining the walls, and various contraptions set up on tables and hooks that Will could only guess the uses of, and he silently wished that his imagination wasn't quite so vivid.

Morgarath wanted information, and was going to torture him to get it, but Will realized instantly the flaw in his captor's plan. Will didn't _have _any information to give, he was barely into his second year of apprenticeship, and when Morgarath realized this, he would have no more reason to keep him alive. He wouldn't be ransomed, there was no one to ransom him to; he knew that the King would never pay to keep him alive, and he had no family or friends who would be able to pay the ransom. With this newfound realization in mind, Will looked up and took a deep, steadying breath. If he was going to die here, he was damn sure that he wasn't going to go quietly. 

* * *

Morgarath saw the instant that the young apprentice realized exactly where he was. He had seen the fear in every line of the boy's body and then, unexpectedly, the fear had vanished. Before Morgarath had time to understand the sudden change, the boy, Will he had said his name was, had looked him in the eye, fists clenched in defiance and he threw himself at Morgarath. The guard restraining the boy hadn't expected the sudden move, and had been unable to keep hold of the boy.

The Lord of Night and Rain stood frozen in shock as the boy tackled him to the stone dungeon floor and grabbed the dagger out of his belt. Before Morgarath had time to respond to the dangerous new position he had suddenly found himself in, the blade glinting dangerously above him as the seemingly fearless apprentice raised it, two handed, above his head, preparing to deliver a killing blow. Morgarath reached up, planning to grab the boy by his throat, but before he could, the boy's slight weight was pulled off him as he was grabbed from behind by the guard.

Morgarath got to his feet slowly and brushed off his clothes much more calmly than he really felt after his rather close brush with death, and he watched as his guard tore the dagger from the apprentice's hands and threw the young boy bodily across the room. There was a soft thump as the boy impacted a metal chair that was bolted to the stone floor, and he slid to the ground with a cry of pain. 

* * *

Will whimpered and desperately clutched at his middle as he lay panting and crying on the ground. His stomach had caught the arm of the metal chair, and for a panicked moment, Will had been terrified that something really important had been broken, as he had been unable to breathe. Thankfully, he had felt the pressure give way just as he had started seeing white spots, and he was suddenly, blessedly, able to full his lungs. Once his panic over not being able to breathe had lessened, he had been overwhelmed again by fear and despair. He had been so close! He had had the knife in his hands and Morgarath had been beneath him, helpless. Now the moment was gone, and it was doubtful that Will would ever get such a chance again. He couldn't help but let out a long train of swear words in between tears as the guard grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him to his feet.

"Bring him here, it's time to teach the brat a very valuable lesson. It appears that he is long overdue for it." Morgarath stood at a long metal table near the large fire, and was unbuckling the leather straps attached to its surface. The guard picked up the apprentice, and easily brushed aside the boy's panicked struggles as he held him down against the table and Morgarath tightened the straps across his chest and limbs, pinning Will in place.

Will's head pounded as he tried desperately to free himself, but the straps were too tight for him to do more than wiggle his fingers and toes and to turn his head to the side. One particularly thick leather strap bound him to the table across his neck, and Will was forced to stop his struggling and simply breathe, else he risked choking himself. Unfortunately, the angle he was left lying at allowed him a perfect view as Morgarath pulled a rather large brand from a shelf on the wall and placed it into the red hot coals of the fire. Morgarath laughed, the sound chilling, and it echoed around the chamber as he heard Will's breath hitch with fright.

After what seemed like eternity, Morgarath pulled the brand from the coals and inspected the glowing tip to make sure that it was ready. He nodded to the waiting guard and the man pulled out a knife and cut off Will's shirt. "Hold still now, Ranger. This is going to hurt, but I'm afraid that it's rather the point. You see, this brand is my symbol, my mark, and it means that now, you belong to me, and I can do whatever I want with you."

Will heard the words as if from underwater, and he was unable to stop himself from both shaking with terror and watching with wide eyes as the brand got closer and closer to the skin directly above his heart. Will gave a bloodcurdling scream as Morgarath pressed the glowing metal into his skin, and he could _smel__l_ the skin burning. There was nothing he could do to escape the pain, and it seemed an eternity until a horrible sizzling sound filled the air as Morgarath withdrew the brand and threw it into a bucket of water. Will didn't notice as the man lent over the sobbing apprentice to inspect his handiwork. Will barely even realized that the hot metal had left his skin as his flesh still burnt and sizzled, oozing fluid.

The brand was directly over his heart and the size of a large fist. The brand was well formed, and Morgarath gave a grim grunt of satisfaction as he distinctly made out the single blackbird above two crossed swords that was his personal crest. Sometimes, if the brand wasn't put on properly or the victim wasn't properly secured, the branding iron moved half way through the process, resulting in a smudged lump of burned flesh. This ended up being either a large mess, or what was referred to as a 'shadow effect', where there was two brands in roughly the same spot with one looking like a 'shadow' of the other. This was one of Morgarath's better brandings, and he felt rather smug as picked up the boy's bronze amulet and rotated the chain around the apprentice's neck until the small Oakleaf sat directly in the centre of the boy's chest, next to the mangled flesh that was the brand.

Morgarath stepped away from the whimpering apprentice and turned to the guard. "Leave him tied to the table till morning. I'll be back for him then." Morgarath didn't even wait to hear the man's obedient "yes, Milord", he had already walked out through the iron door, whistling to himself. 

* * *

Lady Pauline was at her desk and reading various reports from throughout Araluen. The Rangers may be the kingdom's official intelligence force but the couriers were the unofficial one. Lady Pauline's network of agents was one of the best, and there was very little that she didn't know. When she ever found something _really_ interesting, she would pass it on to Halt, but more often than not, he would already know. It had become a kind of game to them. She would try to find out something before Halt, and he would bribe (or threaten, or trick) her agents into giving her false information or telling him what she knew.

The first time that Halt had tried to bribe one of her people, the girl had broken down crying in front of Pauline, thinking that she had betrayed her. Pauline had quickly managed to calm the girl down and had let her people know what was going on (after, of course, giving Halt a piece of her mind for scaring one of her people so much). After becoming aware of the game between the two, Pauline's people had caught on quite quickly, and they often rather enjoyed the friendly challenge, despite the Ranger's rather brisk manner. Quite often, the information they passed onto Halt was either false or had been previously inspected by Pauline.

Pauline knew Halt was aware of her messing with the bribes, but he just managed to think up new ways to try to out-smart her. Baron Arald had asked her about the games once and while she had just shrugged and said that it kept her on her toes, the Baron had raised his eyebrow, obviously thinking that there was more to it than that.

Lady Pauline had just smiled, refusing to say any more. Baron Arald could be stubborn and if he had, somehow, got it into his head that there was something more going on between Halt and Pauline, well, there was nothing that she could do to change his mind.

Halt had left the day before to go chasing after the Skandians that had murdered his apprentice. Pauline had known that it would happen, she had seen Halt getting more and more frustrated every day, but she wished that Halt had thought to say goodbye.

Sighing, Lady Pauline set the reports aside and began searching for some coffee grounds, becoming slightly annoyed when she couldn't find any. She wasn't nearly as addicted to coffee as Halt was, but she found that she drunk rather more of the brew when he wasn't around.

There was a knock on the door and Pauline sat back at her desk and called for the person to come in. She would just have to wait until later to search for more coffee. 

* * *

Will felt hands on his shoulder, roughly shaking him awake, and a harsh voice seemed to trample through the inside of his skull, but he was unable to make out any words. He tried absently to shake the hands off, before he realized that he couldn't move and he was puzzled for a moment before the memories of the previous night came flooding back to him. He gasped, flinching away from the touch on his shoulder and agony once more filled his body as his eyes slowly focused in the dim light and he looked around the room, desperately trying to think of something, anything, other than the memory of the branding. It didn't take him long for Will to realise, from the fact that he could still smell lingering burnt flesh in the air and that he couldn't move, that he was still attached to the table.

He panicked, seeing the hands move over him again, unable to think of anything other than the pain from the branding, terrified that the hands were going to hurt him again, despite a small voice in the back of his head telling him to calm down, that the hands were empty. It took Will an embarrassingly long time to calm down long enough to realise that the hands were undoing the straps to the table, but before he could take advantage of this small freedom, he was lifted from the table and forced into a chair.

Will came back to himself enough to mutter a few well-chosen swear words as he was strapped instead to the metal chair. The same one, he noticed, that he had been thrown into when he was first brought to this chamber. He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious, but the brand was scabbed over slightly now, but still oozing blood and a clear, sticky fluid. Will had to suppress the urge to vomit as he got his first proper look at the disgusting mark on his chest. The skin was blackened and uneven, and some was even peeling off. He couldn't look at it, and tore his eyes from the sight before he could make out what Morgarath had branded into him. He didn't want to know what the bastard had done to him; he wanted to be back, with Halt, at their little cabin in the Redmont forest.

Choking back sobs of despair, Will caught sight of the approaching Lord of Night and Rain, pulling on his ever present chain mail backed gloves. The scene abruptly shifted his mood from despair to panic, and a little voice that sounded suspiciously like Halt was demanding the he focus, that now was not the time for panic or despair, that he needed to _think!_

Will, not one to ever ignore something Halt had to say, voice in his head or not, took a deep breath, slowly pushing aside the panic. It took him a while, but eventually he was able to think and look at the waiting man without being overwhelmed.

"Back with us?" Morgarath sneered. "About bloody time."

Seeing the vicious scowl on the man's face, and the guard waiting in the background, Will felt the panic rising again, but the Halt-voice in his head whispered reassurances and helped him keep his focus. Will gathered his courage and lifted his head, looking Morgarath in the eyes, trying to show the man that he wasn't afraid, that he wasn't broken.

Morgarath, angered by the spark of defiance in the boy's eyes, lunged forward and grabbed Will by the hair. He jerked his head back and leaned in close, until Will could feel the man's foul breath on his cheek.

"Ranger Will," the man angrily spat the title out, as if it was a vile insult, and Will felt spittle land on the side of his face. "We're going to have a nice long chat, you and I, and you're going to tell me exactly what I want to know, understand?" The hand in Will's hair twisted, and it felt as if his scalp was going to be separated from his skull, but still Will looked defiantly into Morgarath's cold, black eyes, refusing to give in.

The man snarled, and before Will knew what was happening, the man punched him in the gut with his free hand. Will, strapped to the metal chair, was unable to do anything but gasp in pain as Morgarath struck him twice more. "Understand, boy?" he said again, voice low and deadly, the threat clear.

Will couldn't help it; he looked in those cold eyes once more before glancing away, looking down at the ground. "Yes, sir" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

* * *

**A/N**

Look, SHE LIVES! *Evil cackling*

I'm back everyone, but I don't know how regular updates will be. RL sucks ass. Past-me chose to study Biochemistry and Pharmacology in university, and current-me wants to shoot past-me in the head for choosing subjects so bloody hard. Interesting, but hard.

It's been a while, hasn't it...? *looks at the last updated date and cringes* I'll try and update when I can, but end of semester exams are coming up, and I need to do well, but they're freaking me out, so I'm procrastinating by writing this story.

As this version of The Black Castle and the Dark Version start to diverge quite seriously from here, I think I'll have to focus on this one and write the dark one once I've finished this. Sorry, but otherwise I mix them up, and I have to keep rereading what I've written in the past, and it slows me down. This story is mostly all planned out, all ready to go, so I shouldn't get writer's block, I just have no time to write. *cries* Dark version-Will isn't co-operating with me, and keeps doing stupid things. I have the next 5 or so chapters of that planned, but he keeps not doing what I want him to, which is killing my plot, so he's getting a time-out until I can focus on that story and get everything sorted. 

**As I know this is an absolutely horrible way to end a chapter and disappear for another couple of months, I'll try and update soon, but no promises. Thank you to everyone that reviews, they really help, and always get me inspired. They nearly always get me writing, but usually I don't get enough done to publish a whole chapter, or I only work on planning. (Or start a whole new story, but oops...)**

**I read 'The Royal Ranger' when it came out last year, and I can't believe the series is over. What a way to end. The start just made me want to cry, but I found a bit of the plot to be quite predictable... Anyone else got any thoughts to share?**

Hopefully I'll see you all again soon!

**Ranger Ali**


	13. Chapter 13: Halt's Apprentice

**Chapter 13: Halt's Apprentice**

Morgarath grinned at Will's compliance, the gesture showing his teeth. This would be easier than he had anticipated. He had been expecting to have to beat the boy some more to get him to give in, but it seemed that most of the boy's courage was for show. He had expected more from the Ranger Corps than this weak, snivelling boy, but he supposed the boy was still young, and easily broken.

"How old are you, boy?" he demanded, feeing a burst of smug satisfaction when the apprentice glanced at his gloves before answering. It was good that the young Ranger feared him.

"16, sir. I'm 16."

The self-titled Lord raised his eyebrows. He'd thought the apprentice was younger, given his small size and how easily the boy had been broken. "How long have you been a Ranger?"

"Apprentice. I'm not a full Ranger. I've only been training for a year and a half." Will opened his mouth to say more, but before he could, Morgarath punched him in the stomach, making him groan and wheeze.

"Don't smart mouth me, Ranger," Morgarath snapped, adding sarcastic bite to the title 'ranger'. "I am completely aware that such a pitiful whelp like you is only an apprentice, and you will show me respect, understood?"

Will frantically nodded, unable to say anything around his desperate gasps for air. The Halt-voice in his head berated him for being stupid, told him that he always knew his mouth would get him in trouble. _Watch what you're saying_, it said, _don't antagonize him_.

"Who are you apprenticed to?" Morgarath suddenly asked, and Will couldn't help the sudden panic that bubbled up into a big lump in his throat. He knew he couldn't tell the truth, but he had a horrible feeling that the man would be able to tell if he was lying. His punishment for lying couldn't be worse than Morgarath finding out that Will was Halt's apprentice, could it? Morgarath hated Halt more than any other Ranger, perhaps more than all the other Rangers combined. There was no way he could let the other man find out the truth. "Well?" the man demanded, leaning in threateningly close.

_Gilan_, the Halt-voice suddenly insisted. _Tell him you're apprenticed to Gilan_. "Gilan," he said aloud, and hoped the man brought it. There was a strange gleam in Morgarath's eye though, and Will realised that he knew the apprentice was lying. "Ranger Gilan," he said again, louder, desperate for the man to accept it.

He didn't even have time to flinch before he was backhanded across the face, and his head bounced painfully off the metal back of the chair. "Tell the truth, Ranger!" Morgarath spat demandingly in his ear, before he struck Will again.

Will, his head ringing, the pain drowning out the Halt-voice, pleaded desperately with his interrogator, insisting that he was telling the truth, but the man was having none of it. Without any warning, a large, gloved fist closed around his throat, and his pleas and breath were abruptly cut off. Morgarath held on until Will thought he was going to pass out, white spots growing into a hazy film before his eyes, but he was released before he could fall into unconsciousness. Will wasn't sure whether this was a mercy or a cruelty.

"Tell the truth, boy!" Morgarath insisted again, and Will despite knowing that the truth was possibly deadly, he had no other options. He couldn't come up with a good enough lie; he hadn't been at the gathering ground long enough his first year to know enough about another Ranger to realistically make it seem as if he was their apprentice instead.

"Halt," he gasped out, cringing away from the man, terrified that Morgarath was going to strangle him again. What if the next time he didn't let go before the young apprentice died? "I'm apprenticed to Ranger Halt."

The Lord of Night and Rain went completely still, and all the blood seemed to drain from the man's face as he stood ramrod straight. "What?" he hissed, voice almost inaudible, and Will closed his eyes, knowing instinctively what was going to happen next, but unable to do anything to stop it.

A single tear managed to escape his closely clenched eyelids and run down his cheek as the Halt-voice whispered in his ear; _I'm sorry, Will. So sorry,_ it said, and Will knew the Halt-voice was crying too.

Morgarath roared, a pure, animalistic sound, and even the guard flinched away from the man as he threw himself at the apprentice, attacking every part of the bound boy he could reach. Will screamed and the scab on new brand tore open, blood, pus, and other fluid running down his chest, but Morgarath didn't stop. He clawed and spat at the boy, punching every bit of him that he could reach, and when that wasn't enough, to satisfy his anger, he took up a long iron instrument from a nearby table, using that to strike the boy instead. Morgarath didn't stop until his voice was horse from his howls of rage and the boy, _Halt's apprentice_, lay still and silent, in a bloody mess on the chair.

* * *

It was just past noon when Horace and Halt, the gruff man for once without his distinctive Ranger garb, rode into the port of Cannon located along the eastern coast of Caraway Fief. Cannon was a small fishing village, but despite its relatively small size, it did a roaring trade in the transport of goods from Araluen to La Rivage, in Gallica. A lot of this trade, Halt knew, wasn't legal. Cannon wasn't along any major road, and it wasn't very well located to the bigger towns and villages for many legal traders, but it did well enough and was (for the most part) ignored by the authorities.

"Can we stop for lunch, Halt?" Horace had finally stopped gawking at the small seaside town and, having caught site of the unmistakable sign of an inn, was immediately captivated at the thought of having something hot to eat. Halt had despised having to stop for anything other than sleep (and even then he only allowed it when absolutely necessary in order to stop them collapsing in the saddle) and the pair had eaten most of their meals cold while moving. Horace had been complaining most of the way to Cannon, and Halt had almost given in to the temptation to leave the young warrior on the side of the road.

"We will go back to the inn later, Horace. I want to buy us passage on a ship first," Halt said abruptly, not even bothering to look at the young man, already well used to his love of food,and instead his roving gaze analysed the port and ships on the distant side of the small town.

Horace nodded, realizing from the grim man's tone that Halt was in no mood to argue and dismounted, holding tightly to Kicker's reins as he followed the similarly dismounted Ranger around the docks. He gazed in awe at the different kinds of people pressing in all around him. There were fishermen and smugglers and traders and plenty of other people that Horace couldn't place. "Halt?" Horace said.

Halt paused and turned back to face the battleschool apprentice. He raised his eyebrow and sighed in anticipation of a question. "What, Horace?"

"I…" It took less than a second for a pickpocket to pretend to stumble into Halt and for the man to lift his purse. As the pickpocket ran down an alleyway, Halt held up a hand to silence Horace and snapped at him to wait with the horses. Horace watched, stunned, as Halt turned and vanished into the shadows, undoubtedly following the unlucky pickpocket. Horace wouldn't want to be the man when the angry Halt caught up to him. In the entirety of the village, Horace didn't think there was a single man (or woman) that was a worse person to pickpocket than Ranger Halt.

* * *

Halt stalked the thief through the town's side streets and alleyways until the man stopped, stupidly thinking that he had lost his pursuer. As the thief pulled out Halt's purse to inspect his prize, the grizzled Ranger moved through the alleyway's shadows until he was standing directly behind the thief, saxe in hand. He was angry. Very angry. This arrogant, _little_ man was standing between himself and the Skandians that had murdered his apprentice. His eyes glinted dangerously as Halt stepped out of the shadows and grabbed the thief by the jerkin, shoving him violently against the wall. Gold and silver coins spilled onto the ground as the thief felt the unmistakable prickling of the razor sharp tip of Halt's saxe pressed against his throat.

"You chose the wrong man to try and rob, scumbag. Out of all of the people at the docks, I was not only one of the only people that would follow you to take back my purse, but also the only man who would have _absolutely no qualms_ about cutting your throat in the process."

Halt's voice was dangerously low and the thief was slowly realizing exactly how far the tables had turned. If Halt chose to cut his throat, there was nothing he would be able to do to stop him. Halt had never been so close to his breaking point before. Usually, he lived by a very strict moral code (although perhaps it included things a bit more _immoral_ than other people), but never before had Halt felt that he would murder a man in cold blood, especially over a purse. Now, he was dangerously willing, embittered by the loss of his apprentice and enraged by the people that kept standing in the way of his revenge.

The thief, despite seeing that the odds had tipped so far against him as to be near impossible, pushed his luck even further by trying a lie. "Please sir, my wife's sick and I needed the money to pay for a healer. Please don't kill me!" he begged.

Halt snorted in disgust and stared at the snivelling man in front of him, before spitting on the ground. He very much doubted that the thief even had a wife, let alone that she was sick. Grinning maliciously, Halt told the thief as much, pressing the saxe harder into the man's throat, drawing a small bead of blood.

"Ok, ok, I lied! Just please don't kill me! I'll do anything sir! Please!" The man was trembling and his voice was several octaves higher than normal as he shook under Halt's gaze and saxe.

Halt tightened his grip on the man, and was about to throw him to the ground and give him a well-deserved kick, before he got an idea. "You know what? I think this might just be your lucky day," Halt sneered, a sarcastic grin split across his face. The sight was terrifying. "I'm willing to spare your worthless life, providing you can give me some information."

The thief began sobbing as Halt drew the saxe, ever-so-slightly away from the man's neck, and he collapsed against the wall behind him, as far as he could while still held by Halt's iron grip. "Thank you, sir! You're most kind. I'll tell you whatever you want to know." Halt nodded, as if coming to a decision, before giving the man a hard look and sheathing his saxe. He released the man with a hard shove into the wall behind him, before stepping away from the man. The thief slipped to the ground, his quivering legs no longer able to support him.

"My friend and I are looking for a ship to take us and three horses to Gallica, as soon as possible. I need a ship that will take us there, fast, no questions asked. I don't care whether the ship's legal or not, I just want to be out of Araluen by tomorrow at the latest. It's none of your business why." Halt was glaring at the man and the thief seemed to melt under his unwavering gaze, freezing any questions or thoughts of defiance right in their tracks.

"Now's a bad time to cross, sir," the man started, refusing to look the Ranger in his eyes. "There have been some pretty serious storms this season and there aren't many captains willing to risk their cargo trying to cross now, let alone take passengers with horses." Halt narrowed his gaze and his hand moved to rest on the hilt of his saxe, the threat clear. The thief hurriedly resumed talking, afraid that the intimidating man would draw the blade again. "There is a man, a friend of mine, Kevin, who's going to try the crossing. He runs a freighter and has a shipment of hides for La Rivage. He normally wouldn't attempt a crossing in weather like this, but he has a client who's paying him extra to carry some herbs across for him and he needs to leave today or the'll spoil. He's leaving within the hour but he should have room for you and the horses, if you pay him well enough." The thief spoke in a rush, trying to get everything out as fast as possible in order to hasten his escape from the man.

Halt thought quickly about what the thief had told him. Undoubtedly, the herbs that the captain, Kevin, was carrying were illegal. At the moment though, smugglers weren't his priority. The thief had said that the ship was leaving within the hour so Halt knew that he had to deicide quickly. If what the man had said about there being storms in the Narrow Sea then it was likely that the freighter would be the only one willing to travel. If he missed this chance, they might not be able to leave Araluen for another week or so while they waied fir the weather to clear, and Halt couldn't afford to wait that long. Abruptly, he came to a decision.

"Alright," he snapped out at the man. "If what you have told me is true, I'll be out of here in the hour and you will never have to see me again. If, however, I find that you have lied to me, I will track you down and cut your throat. Understand?" The thief quickly nodded and insisted that he was telling the truth.

Halt studied the man, deadly serious, before speaking again. "Right then. I think there is just one more thing you can do for me and then I'll be gone." The thief nodded, apparently too afraid of the Ranger's next demand to use his voice. "Pick up my coins," Halt snapped, and there was an unidentifiable glint in his eye.

Quickly, as if there was never anything as important in his life (and there probably wasn't, Halt mused) the thief moved to pick up the spilled silver and gold and to put it back into Halt's purse. He had dropped them when Halt had pinned him against the wall and he had been hoping in the back of his mind that the shorter man had forgotten about it in his urgency to get a ship. He realized now that it had been an unfounded hope; the man was as sharp as the saxe he carried.

Halt watched, smirking, as the thief handed back his purse and he pretended not to notice that a couple of the coins had found their way into some of the thief's pockets. He really didn't have time to fight over a couple measly coins. Without a second glance, turned and walked into the shadows, disappearing from view. As he walked, Halt felt under his cloak for the four purses he had lifted from the pickpocket as he had pinned the man against the wall. Obviously, the man was an amateur if he kept all of the day's spoils on his person. There was a howl of rage and despair from behind him and Halt smirked once more as the pickpocket realized that he had been beaten at his own game.

* * *

Horace was wandering around the docks looking at the various ships when Halt seemed to materialize out of thin air to stand beside him, causing him to startle. "You know Halt; it's kind of creepy when you sneak up behind people like that. Normal people can't turn themselves invisible." Halt just grunted and started walking towards a freighter full of stinking hides. Horace wrinkled his nose at the smell but continued to follow Halt, trusting that the old Ranger knew best.

The Ranger's next statement caused Horace to rethink this belief however. "We're going to eat on the boat."

"What! Why?" Horace was standing rooted to the spot, horrified at missing out on his last chance to have a hot meal before having to cross the Narrow Sea and living off cold travel rations for the four days the crossing would take.

Before Horace could blink, Halt spun around and grabbed him by the front of his jerkin, his eyes showing his anger. "Don't you think that I was looking forward to a hot meal just as much as you were, Horace? Some things are more important than your stomach. If we don't leave now, then we will have to wait weeks for the storms to clear. We don't have weeks Horace. I've abandoned my post in Redmont and people could be searching for me as we speak." Halt's voice was bitter and he refused to look Horace in the eyes, knowing that he had overreacted to the young man's complaints, but unwilling to apologize.

"Besides," Halt added, "The longer it takes for us to get to Skandia, the harder it will be to track down the Skandians that murdered Will. The sooner we finish there, the sooner we can get back to Araluen and the more likely it will be that I will still have a job." The last part was said so quietly that Horace almost missed it.

Halt let go and turned away to go back to the ship but Horace stopped him, frowning. "I thought you were a Ranger? Why would they kick you out? It's not your fault Will was killed."

Halt stopped and looked at the trusting boy in front of him. "I'm not meant to be here Horace. I asked permission to go after Erak and his crew when Will was first murdered, but I was refused. I quit the Corps so I could go to Skandia."

Horace's eyes widened and his whole body showed his shock at hearing Halt's admission. That was why Halt wasn't wearing his Ranger cloak! Before he could say anything more though, Halt had boarded the freighter and he was talking to the captain. Horace saw the flash of gold changing hands and Horace began to realize that there was nothing that Halt wouldn't have done for Will.

* * *

**A/N**

**Look, another update! :D Surprise. Bet you all secretly never expected to hear from me again, right? Or not for another year at least... But sorry, this chapter probably leaves you in even more suspense than the last. It's not really intentional, but Morgarath is an evil bastard, and he kind of got away from me with his rage for Halt. I had intended this whole chapter to be the interrogation, but Morgarath was a raging evil person, and Halt and Horace popped up out of nowhere. I'm aware Halt's a bit out of character, but he's grieving, so cut him (and me) some slack, please. In the book he was willing to slander his King and get exiled for life (also risking execution), and Will was only missing, not supposed dead like in my story. I don't think this is too unreasonable from that perspective, do you?**

**I'd forgotten how amazing it was watching the little bars with views go up. It's obviously been far too long since I've done some serious writing. Thank you for reading, it really does make my day. And a special thank you to everyone who reviews.**

**Ranger Ali**


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